The Present and the Future
by xocovergirl
Summary: There are 17,508 islands in Indonesia, about 6,000 of which are inhabited. On August 31, 2012, returning from a European tour in the middle of the year's most violent storm to date, a plane carrying Big Time Rush loses power, veers off course, and crashes into one of the remaining 11,508 islands. This is their story. Kogan, hints of all pairings, eventual GSF
1. Chapter 1

It begins where it ended.

Later, it will end where it began, but that's much later, and no one knows that yet. They don't know that this is a beginning. That this is _the_ beginning.

Kendall doesn't know, either. He knows now only what his senses are relaying to him, and he knows (_it begins_) what his mind knew before the memories stopped (_where it ended_).

This is not that dream.

Only this time, it doesn't feel like a lie.

This isn't any dream he's ever had, and he is sure it's a dream, because Carlos doesn't kiss him in real life. It might be nice if he did, sometimes, but the point is, he doesn't. But it's a dream, and it feels damn nice, and it's been awhile since Kendall's had any kind of sex dream, and it's a _dream_, so he doesn't have to feel guilty that this feels good, and Carlos's so _warm_.

"Feel good," he tries to murmur against Carlos's lips, but suddenly it doesn't feel like a kiss anymore and his mouth is being filled with hot breath and he's choking, spurting up water he didn't realize was lodged in his throat, and despite it all, his mouth feels dry as desert sand, salty and scratchy and there's noise now, voices that he's trying to process.

"James. _James!_"

It's not a dream anymore, because Kendall doesn't hear sound in his dreams, but it's got to be the manageable kind of chaos if James Diamond is here, because James Diamond makes everything right.

There is shuffling, Carlos's arms strong around his shoulders, easing him up, and Kendall's eyes dart to the side to find James crouched beside him.

"You okay?" James asks. "Kendall, can you hear me? Are you okay?"

Kendall figures he must nod, because James nods back quickly, mutters "Okay," and vanishes.

It's a moment before he realizes he's looking around, vaguely registering _beach_ and _ocean_, which doesn't make any sense, at all, because, no, _airplane_, and, what? And -

"Kendall?"

His eyes follow the noise, settling on Carlos, and finally, he's _seeing_. Seeing the way he remembers vision to be like, where it connects with his brain, which is terrifying because what he sees is blood, half-dried splashes of it across Carlos's face, centered in a dark clot on the side of his forehead where it's obvious it started, his hair matted in the mess of it, plastered against his forehead and cheeks in sticky strands, a few dots over his bare chest - and his eyes, darker than ever, and Kendall knows Carlos's eyes always grow darker when his emotions are high, but this is - this is not that. This is something else, beyond that. This is - Jesus. This is _Carlos_, covered in _blood_, and -

"_Carlos_." He reaches out, but the hands he sees in front him can't be his; they're dark and splattered with that same dirty substance on Carlos's face. Half-dried lines of it snake down his arms, and some part of his body is registering pain, somewhere in his head, throbbing, but seems somehow irrelevant, muted in the face of his terror.

Carlos catches his hands, holds them gently in his. "It's okay."

"Carlos. You're. _Carlos."_

"I'm okay, man. I'm okay. It's okay. It's okay."

The way his voice is shaking, his words losing focus, the way he's squeezing Kendall's hands, Kendall's present enough to recognize Carlos is trying to convince himself more than anyone else. And Kendall has back-burner thoughts of James, Logan, Guitar Dude, everyone else, but right now he just wants Carlos to come closer, pull Kendall into his arms, because Carlos is _here_, solid and certain and real and alive.

"Are you hurt?" Carlos asks, releasing Kendall's hands to cup his face, tilt his head a bit, forehead creased as he searches for signs of injury.

"I - I don't think so. Not - really. Not bad."

"Carlos!"

Their heads turn in unison, and Kendall sees more. Maybe more than he's ever seen, more than he thinks he can take in. Some fifteen feet away, James's crouched over a figure in the sand the same way he was over Kendall, whispering words Kendall can't hear, words that seem more private than just quiet. James's got his own t-shirt in his hands, fingers and teeth working fast to rip the white material into strips that he starts to wrap around the figure's head. Kendall can spot a long, jagged gash running from the top of James's shoulder halfway down his chest, a few scratches on his back and face, but he looks competent, safe, never flinching despite the rapid movements of his arms, the stretch of his shoulder blades as he works.

Carlos scrambles to his feet and heads over to James, the squish of damp sand under his feet fading from Kendall's ears as he runs, leaving Kendall to watch them, pull himself up and follow at his own shaky pace.

James is sharing the whispers with Carlos now, but they're louder, more distinct as Kendall approaches.

"-Need some water, when you go back see if you can find some bottles, and the first-aid kit, and if you can't find that, some vodka from the mini-bar if it's... still there, and any clean clothes or towels you can get your hands on, some of the blankets or pillows - "

Kendall gets close enough to see the figure is covered in blood, some dried, some still dripping from countless wounds, making his own hands and Carlos's face look clean, pristine and unharmed, and when he lifts his gaze to the figure's face, their eyes catch.

Jett smiles weakly, eyes unfocused. "Hey, Kendoll."

"Jett. Jesus."

He reaches out, but Jett doesn't reach back as Carlos had. His fingers twitch helplessly and James is there at once, a hand pressing gently at Kendall's chest as his other works to secure one of the makeshift bandages. "Back off," he says softly, eyes still on Jett. "Check on Logan for me. Carlos?"

Carlos nods, accepting something James holds out for him and taking off across the beach, back into the water where his pace is immediately hindered, and Kendall can feel his frustration until he watches Carlos dive headfirst into a foamy row of waves and head out about a hundred feet to where some three quarters of their plane is rammed into the shallow water, the tail end bobbing with the current.

Kendall's conviction of being in a dream suddenly renews.

Or maybe, like Aladdin, he hit his head harder than he'd thought.

That thought sends his stomach into a whirlwind again, because he really doesn't feel like he's existing in the same world anymore as Disney cartoons and Alan Menken tracks.

But he's existing - that much is certain. He's _existing_, and Carlos and James and Jett are alive and - and they're _alive_, and Jesus fucking shit, that's not usually a term he uses to define the people in his life, by their state of existence, and -

_Check on Logan._

Shit.

_Shitshitshit. No, no, no, no, no._

His eyes rip away from the small movement in the distance as Carlos reaches the plane, back to James and Jett and for the first time in twenty-one years of constant, faithful motion, his heart stops beating.

Five feet, seven inches, a hundred and fifty pounds and the delicate, unmistakable line of his hands tell him it's Logan; but nothing else offers clues. His face is stained and messy like theirs, his shirt gone and chest covered in scrapes, dirty sand, and bits of seaweed, his pants drenched and clinging, with black spots that look more like grease than blood, thank god, and it could be worse, it could be worse, Kendall's screaming inside to himself, _it could be worse_, only it_couldn't_. It couldn't, nothing on earth could be worse than Logan lying covered in blood, nothing, except that it's Logan covered in blood with his eyes closed and he's _not moving_.

"_Logie_."

It comes out as a sharp spit of breath, a ghost of the syllable and nothing more, but it reaches James somehow, and he's abandoning his tasks for three quick leaping steps toward Kendall. It's too late. Kendall's legs are the first to collapse (his mind isn't far behind), and he's crawling on his hands and knees toward Logan, trying to make words come out to coax him back (won't say back from what, won't think it, just _back_), but he can't tell if sounds are coming out, can't even tell if his heart's started beating again, but he's sure it hasn't, not if Logan's isn't and _oh god oh god oh god_.

"Kendall - " James's trying to grasp at him, pull him back. "Kendall, he's - "

"Logan - "

"Kendall, he's alive - "

"Logan, Logan, he's - "

"He's _alive_, Kendall! He's alive, okay, he's breathing - here." James closes a shaky hand around Kendall's and guides it to Logan's wrist, presses Kendall's fingers lightly to the pulse. "See? See? He's alive."

Kendall can't breathe yet, but he recognizes the jumpstart of his own heartbeat.

"It's - James. I - he's. It's." He ghosts his free hand over Logan's torso, terrified to touch lest he tamper with his fragile state, send him over the wrong edge. "James. James."

"He's alive."

"So much - James - " His whole body's shaking, aching, voice in an octave he didn't know he could reach, in a tone that doesn't sound human, and James's responses are the only way Kendall knows he's speaking. "So much blood - he's - we have to - "

"It's not his, Ken - "

"_So much_ - "

"Ken, it's - "

"It's _everywhere_, James! It's - "

"Kendall! It's _not his_. He's got a little head wound, that's it, right here, look."

He brushes a bit of Logan's hair out of his face to illustrate, and Kendall immediately wants to put it back, gently press down his hair until it's back in place, because if, _when when when_ Logan wakes up, he's going to be be so pissed if his hair looks like this, and -

"Not his," James whispers, a hand on Kendall's shoulder. "Okay? He's just knocked out. Look - stay here with him. Talk to him, he might be able to hear you. Hold his hand, here." He guides Kendall down next to Logan, where Kendall remains scrunched stiffly against his motionless side. "Be real gentle, we don't know if anything's broken. Just talk to him, keep your hand on his pulse, if it slows down or speeds up, tell me, okay?"

Kendall doesn't affirm, but he doesn't protest, and it's enough that James squeezes his shoulder and scampers back to Jett, securing the bandages and trying to peel off Jett's shoes.

Kendall curls against Logan, remembering _gentle, okay_, and tries to ignore the scratchy wet sand caught in his pants, in his skin. He wants to pick Logan up and put him in a warm bath and wash him clean, but there's no bathtub, there's no warm, comfortingly sterile hotel room, there's _nothing nothing nothing_, but that path of thought sends his head spinning again so he forces himself to pretend. He's good at pretending. He's pretended for a long time. For his parents, his band, himself, for Logan, definitely for Logan.

He doesn't touch past his fingers on Logan's pulse, doesn't want to rub any of the sand into Logan's skin, just presses his body against Logan's side, drawing the slightest comfort from his warmth, and nestles his head into the crook of Logan's neck.

"Logie?" He breathes once, twice. They're home, they're in Vegas. They're seventeen, in Carlos's basement, Friday night, midnight, with empty pizza boxes on the floor and guitars and handwritten tabs strewn about the room in the dark. "Logan. Logie. Hi. I love you, hi." He licks his lips, ignoring his parched mouth, pretending. Water fountains and two-liter bottles of Coke. Starbucks. A fridge stocked with Red Bull and mango smoothies. "Hi," he whispers again. "You look like shit, you know that? You'd be so mad if you saw yourself." Pretending. They have to be quiet because Carlos's asleep on the couch above and if they wake him up talking, he'll throw things at them, and not just pillows. "You're still gorgeous though," he adds; then, "It's kind of nice that you can't tell me to shut up right now."

He feels the first tear crawl down his cheek, hot against the breeze that sweeps over them.

"Please," he breathes. "Come back. Please. I promise I'll always do my own homework. I'll never take first shower, and I won't walk around naked if you really hate it. Please, just come back, I need you."

It's horrifying, getting nothing in return, not an eyeroll, not a _Fuck off, Kendall_, not an irritated grunt as Logan shifts to the other end of the sofa. It's surreal, it's wrong, it's maybe the most wrong thing Kendall's ever experienced. And despite how hard he tries to keep his eyes shut, they won't stay, they just keep springing open, forcing him to focus on the blood, and even though _James said_, he can't erase what's here, right in front of him, even if...

Not his.

_It's not his._

He's slow to rise, still trying to remember how his legs work, when he faces James, watching James work obliviously, whispering incoherence to Jett.

"Whose?"

James looks up, harried and desperate. "What?"

"Whose blood is it?"

"I - I don't know." His voice is soft as he turns back to Jett, almost like he thinks it will calm Kendall, but Kendall knows James isn't stupid.

"Where's Freight Train and Guitar Dude? And the pilot?"

Even Jett's eyes open at that, and Kendall may be riding out the most surreally traumatizing moments of his life right about now, body still achy and chilled like he's got food poisoning or a bad flu - but he still catches the beat that James misses at those two words.

"Carlos is getting them."

"Are they okay?"

"I'm sure they're fine, Ken. Probably just knocked out. We all were."

But Kendall doesn't wait for the answer, is already headed toward the shoreline and into the water when James snaps into awareness and bolts after him, a hand firmly on his arm.

"Kendall - Kendall, no! I need you here, okay? Logan is - "

"I want to see him."

"I need you here, Ken."

"I _want - my - boyfriend_, I want to fucking see him."

And even after three months of "official" amongst their close friends, the word, the title, still sounds foreign, beautifully foreign on his lips, still makes his heart flutter to think that finally, _finally_ someone is _his_, that someone loves him that much, that he's got someone to take care of, to look after and who looks after him and fuck if _anyone_ is going to take that from him.

"Kendall - "

"NO! I want to know that he's okay!"

"Kendall, stop, _stop_! I need you here. Carlos is getting him. Okay? He's getting him - "

"Fuck that." He tries to jerk away, but James has got him tight, and James is stronger, and right now Kendall hates him. "I don't fucking care, I want him NOW."

"No. _No._ You need to be here."

"Stop trying to fucking protect me!"

"I'm not - "

"You're a fucking _liar_, Diamond!"

"Kendall, I need you here. Logan needs you."

But James is not as unflappable as he apparently likes to think, and his hands on Kendall's forearms are shaking as hard as Kendall's entire body, and Kendall's eyes go dark, narrow, because it's cheap, it's a cheap trick trying to bring Logan into this, with James knowing what he does, knowing he can use it against Kendall, try to manipulate him.

"Kendall. Stay. Please. Just - wait. Just _wait_."

Kendall wills as much of the tension from his body as he can, enough at least for James to release him. He catches a spark of trust in James's eyes that Kendall knows he doesn't deserve, before James turns and heads back, crouching down to check on Logan. Kendall watches him go still as he checks Logan's pulse, and then the shaky exhale that shudders through him in relief. He leans down to kiss Logan's temple, and turns back to Jett.

Kendall takes a step forward. "What do you need me to do?"

"Um. I don't - I don't - " His hands tremble as he fastens another makeshift bandage over the last of Jett's wounds. "I don't know. We need - shit, we just need - everything. We need water."

"'S'okay, man, chill," Jett chokes out, slowly, like each word takes a breath out of him. "I'm good. You could like..." He coughs a bit, and James's faces tenses. "You could go work for House now."

"Yeah, uh, it's official," James says brokenly. "You've got lupus."

A corner of Jett's mouth curls up. "Damn it. Knew I - shouldn't have fucked that werewolf."

James smiles, but awkwardly, skeptically, like he can't believe anything could make him smile at a time like this. Kendall just stands there above them, frozen, scared to take a step on some false hope that if he stays still, maybe time will too, at least until he wakes up from whatever this is. His heart's beating rough and rapid in his chest, in his head, in his ears, so loud and harsh he doesn't even hear -

"James."

Kendall and James spin around, less at the surprise of the interruption than at its tone. Carlos stands at the edge of the water, his face washed mostly clear from the swim, his boxers clinging to his shivering figure, but it's probably ninety degrees out and the water isn't cold and he's _shivering_, his arms hanging limp at his sides, water spilling off his fingertips.

Kendall's instincts turn feral, warped, unable to process observations outside his senses; he doesn't even register emotions, not the terror in Carlos's eyes, just the physical circumstances: the ashen gray-white of his face, the fact that his arms are empty, no towels, no blankets, no water.

"James..." he stammers again, and for a second it looks like he's going to fall face-forward onto the sand, but he catches himself and drops to his knees, leaning over as his airport lunch spews forth from his mouth into the water.

"Jesus, Los - " James jumps to his feet, crossing the space and drawing close. "Los. Fuck, _shit_, shit - "

Kendall's still cemented to the spot, his feet pressed into the same indentation in the sand as they were moments ago, still frantic to stop time. But Carlos is already standing up with James's help.

"You need to come with me," he says, his voice having suddenly shed ten years, and some jolt in Kendall's subconscious tells him _now, now,_ and propels him forward.

"I'll go."

"No," Carlos says almost as fast as the words leave Kendall's mouth, his head jerking up to catch Kendall's eyes. "No - no. James."

"Are you fucking kidding me, I'm not - "

"No, Kendall, no, no, just - "

"Where's Guitar Dude?"

Carlos's short, rapid breaths and frozen stare are his only response.

"WHERE'S GUITAR DUDE?" Kendall demands, oddly satisfied when Carlos flinches, because at least if he can scare them off, he can get what he wants, and his mind isn't working well enough to inform him that he's quite possibly starting to lose it.

"Kendall - "

It's James again, hand on Kendall's arm, like some fucking paternal figure he has no fucking right to be, and Kendall shakes him off, hard.

"Where the FUCK is Guitar Dude?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, charging with big, awkward steps into the water, when James spins him around, jerks him back.

"Kendall." His voice is even, calm, forced and shaking. "Stay. Here."

"Fuck you!"

"Kendall, I am bigger than you and I could take you the _fuck down_, do not make me."

Kendall's heart skips a beat. James has never raised his voice, never looked at him with those eyes, not him or Logan or Carlos, not once, and the sheer shock of it halts any attempts Kendall may have been about to make.

When he tries to meet Carlos's eyes, Carlos looks down, and the first, subtle wave of awareness strikes, teasing at Kendall's subconscious. He ignores it.

"Don't make me," James whispers, his voice back to normal and pleading, apologetic. "Keep an eye on them. I'll be right back."

Kendall shoves him off, storms back to the shore, wincing as the first sharp sting of tears starts to break him down. He collapses beside Logan, the same way he's done for years when tears hit, pressing his body close and nuzzling into Logan's hair. Eyes squeezed shut until he sees stars, he doesn't watch, only listens to the splashes behind him, holding his breath until they fade.

It's the longest wait of his life.

Longer than the thirty seconds after their first practice, when Logan dragged Carlos into the next room, shut the door, and came back out to tell Kendall they wanted him.

Longer than the time his parents caught him smoking weed and locked themselves in their bedroom for twenty minutes to decide his punishment.

Longer than the first night alone in his first apartment.

Longer than the silence after the first time he told Logan, _I love you_.

He's trying to pretend again, but it's getting harder to focus.

He focuses instead on Logan's hair. It doesn't feel or smell the way he's used to, but he tells himself it's _Logan_, and that's enough. Somehow, that's always been enough. He remembers what it smelled like that morning, when they got into the cab to go to the airport and Kendall was squashed between Logan and Guitar Dude (Guitar Dude, Guitar Dude, Guitar Dude, who he isn't thinking about at _all_because Carlos's getting him and he's _fine_, James will _make_ him fine, James makes everything all right), and Guitar Dude was attempting to fix a weird setting on his camera, so Kendall had dropped his head to Logan's shoulder instead, and Logan had allowed it without question, just shifted his cell phone and texted one-handed, his other stroking Kendall's hair, and Kendall inhaled shampoo and aftershave and _Logan_ and it was so fucking good that he fell asleep right there in the sun with the low hum of the car buzzing through his body, pressed between his two favorite people in the world, and that could really, really be another lifetime right now.

A splash behind him, the squishy wet pad of footsteps on the sand, pulls him back with a dizzy, sinking jolt.

When he sees James and Carlos, standing there with arms full of water bottles and blankets and nothing else, James sharing Carlos's ghost-white complexion, Kendall's sure he's dreaming again because life wouldn't do this, life wouldn't _be_ like this, not when everything was finally starting to settle and now all he can see are flashes of Guitar Dude's smile, over and over and they're memories he doesn't remember and it makes no sense, everything makes _no sense_ -

And James is supposed to be talking now.

He's supposed to be saying, 'Guitar Dude's helping Freight Train and they're bringing some extra pillows and the pilot's on the radio telling the nearest airport where we are.'

But James isn't talking.

James is staring at him the way Carlos stared at him fifteen minutes ago, and he's _not. talking._

And it's in that moment Kendall decides they're both insane, James and Los; that the crash got to their brains and they don't know anything, they don't fucking know anything, and he's on his feet and running toward the water before anyone even realizes it, and he doesn't see anything but the expanse of water before him, the sickening sight of the plane, and it really is a dream now, like all the dreams where he's running and something impedes him, something stops him from reaching his goal, and the firm grip now is familiar, stronger, but this time he fights it.

"Kendall - "

"NO."

"Kendall, you don't - "

"Let me fucking GO!" And he's elbowing and squirming and twisting, but James's got him tight, both arms wrapped around his torso from behind, trapping his arms. "LET ME GO, fucking let me GO, James, _fuck!_"

"You don't want to see - "

"NO, let me GO - "

"Kendall, you DON'T WANT TO, please, you_don't want to see._"

"This is YOUR FAULT, you should've - "

"Kendall - "

"Should've gotten to him, should've tried harder, this is your fucking FAULT!"

But James's words are so fucking loud in his head, and he's trying to scream them out, trying to fight them with a litany of_no, no, no, no, NO,_in a voice he doesn't recognize, and when he can't fight the tears any more he goes limp in James's arms, crumbling, falling to his knees with James still behind him, still holding him close, and he can't hear the words anymore, can't hear James's words, wrong and lying and _wrong_, can't hear the lap of waves against their bodies, can't hear the brush of limbs and choked sobs as Carlos crouches beside them, trying to curl his arms around Kendall; in his head he can only hear the sound of his own screams, the sound of the way Guitar Dude says (said, said, _said_) 'I love you.'

Somehow he's broken away from them, somehow, he has no fucking idea how, doesn't know anything other than he's running, down the shore, away from them, away from the plane, away from the nightmare, grounding himself in the rhythm of his feet pounding against the hard, shimmering sand just above the water line, his stinging eyes fixed on the golden-pink of the sunset in the distance, chasing it, its certainty, its reliability, begging for it to take him, burn him, burn the memories and everything he knows, until he forgets.

It feels like days that he runs; miles at least. He runs until there's no beach left, until he hits a wall of cliffs and his legs give way, dropping him to the ground, his lungs spent and his head pounding, spinning, empty but for the pain.

In front of him, the sunset drops another notch, abandoning him, mocking him.

He closes his eyes against it. The cold splash of tears down his cheeks reminds him, once again.

This is not that dream.

"Let him go - _Los_."

Carlos spins on the spot, his face frustrated and helpless as he looks at James, at Kendall's figure disappearing down the beach, and back at James.

"Let him go," James repeats, pulling himself to his feet and trying to push the echoes of Kendall's words (your fault, _your fault_) out of his head, the same words that had been nagging at the back of his own fears, his own guilt, before Kendall had ever vocalized them. "He'll be okay. We need to focus."

Carlos nods, sharp and quick, but it's automatic, because there's nothing to do but comply. James looks around at their collection of water bottles, now strewn about the beach and a few floating in the water from their struggle with Kendall. The blanket, already soaked through from the swim back, lies bunched up and sandy. James snatches up the few floating bottles, tosses them to the shore, and lifts up the blanket, draping it across a low tree branch overhanging near Jett before he realizes Carlos is still standing frozen to the spot, watching him.

"...Los?"

Carlos doesn't move, doesn't give any indication he's heard, and James steps to him, instinct lifting his arms to wrap around Carlos, and it's only then that Carlos dissolves, broken sobs shaking them both as he buries his face in James's neck, like he'd just been waiting for James's secure touch before he'd let himself collapse. James holds him tight as he can, ignoring the sharp jabs of pain in his shoulder, ignoring the images bombarding his mind's eye from what they'd encountered in the wreckage; just holds him in a way he'd never imagined Carlos would need.

He has no idea how much he's going to find out, soon. How much they all need, that they'd never known.

"I've got you," he whispers into Carlos's hair, the damp, salty strands tickling his nose. "Los. I've got you. We're here. We're alive, okay? All of us and Jett, we're _alive_, man, we're good. We're good. Okay? We've got each other, we're fine, we'll be _fine_."

And he hopes it doesn't sound like empty reassurance, hopes it sounds genuine and true, because a part of him really does believe it, and if life has taught him anything, that's the part he's going to have to cling to.

James's eyes scan the horizon when they separate, unsure of what he's trying to find.

"Getting dark," Carlos says quietly.

"Yeah."

Their voices are shielding the panic well, or maybe they're both so scared they can't see anything for what it is.

"I think there's time for one more trip to the plane," Carlos offers.

"Yeah," James repeats, a little absently as his eyes. "Um, yeah," he says again, meeting Carlos's eyes as he regains focus, refusing to let himself think about how for the first night of thousands in his life, he may not have a bed to crawl into when the sun goes down. "Yeah, um. First-aid kit. Keep looking. Or liquor, something, we've gotta clean out those cuts. And - like, flashlights, anything. And maybe - "

"James."

They jerk around at the choked sound to find Jett where they'd left him, beside Logan, but he looks like he's trying to move, trying to shift his position. They run toward him, dropping down beside him, and James cradles Jett's less injured hand in both of his.

"Hey, hey," James soothes. "Stop trying to move, asshole. You okay?"

"It's." He draws in a labored breath. "It's spinning."

James meets Carlos's eyes for a brief moment, but looks away at once. He doesn't want to risk Carlos reading the worry he's certain flashed over his face. "What's spinning, man?"

"Everything. It's." His faces scrunches up a bit, and relaxes. "Doesn't really hurt anymore."

James can't stop himself looking at Carlos then, because that's not the kind of reaction even he can face alone. Carlos's looking pretty much the same as he's looked since it started, sickly-pale and dazed, but James manages to swallow and say, "Get me some water."

Carlos fetches a bottle, twisting open the cap and handing it to James. When their fingers brush on the ridged plastic, James can feel Carlos's trembling.

"Hey." He works a hand gently behind Jett's head. "Hey, shitface. C'mere. Drink some of this."

"So bossy," Jett drawls in a slow sigh, but allows himself to be propped up. James tips the bottle and most of it falls down Jett's chin, but a close watch tells him Jett must've swallowed at least a couple sips. James picks up a stray scrap of material from the ground, dumps a bit of the bottle over it, and squeezes it out before swiping it gently across Jett's face, trying to clear off the last of the blood to no avail because it just keeps fucking _coming_and James can't even fucking tell which wounds he's missed anymore.

Jett's eyes fall shut, and James's arm stiffens. He can feel Carlos's eyes darting between them, but doesn't dare look up.

"Jett. ...Jett. _Jett_."

His eyes reopen enough for James's comfort, and James lets out the breath that had lodged itself in his throat.

"Don't do that," he snaps, brushing a finger over Jett's cheek. "Keep looking at me, okay?"

"Seen enough of your ugly face for today, Diamond."

"Like hell you have. Stay with me."

Jett doesn't respond, but he obeys, keeping his eyes on James to hold his eyes as Carlos crawls over to Logan, checking his pulse, his temperature, all the vitals, the routine of it already set and well-practiced in the last hours that have felt like days. He can see Carlos leaning over Logan, lips hovering by his ear, whispering words that likely no one else in the world would understand but the two of them. Carlos kisses Logan's fingers, one by one, his shoulder, his cheek, his temple, even a brief brush of lips against Logan's mouth, whispers to him some more, and gently touches the side of his face to Logan's chest. James suspects it's less to examine the heartbeat than simply to listen to it, its reassuring rhythm.

"Guitar Dude," Jett says quietly. "And Freight Train."

James's stomach flip-flops at the names, astonished at how a few letters, the sound of them leaving lips, can have such an impact on him. Slowly he meets Jett's eyes, and shakes his head. Jett's eyes shut again, but they're squeezed, biting back his reaction. It fails, and James catches the first tear with his fingertip; Jett looks like he might say something, but James can't take it, can't have this conversation, not when he has to see Carlos with Logan like this and worry about Kendall and look at Jett who looks nothing like the Jett who walked out of his room in two polos, proclaiming how much better looking he was than everyone else.

He swallows down the lump in his throat and looks up. "Los."

Carlos meets his eyes even through the dimming light, nods once, steals one last glance at Logan, and heads out into the water.

James feels a tug on his hand, and when he looks down, Jett is trying to wrap his fingers around James's wrist. "Knock it off," he smiles. "What did I tell you about not moving?"

"Suck my dick."

James raises an eyebrow, grateful for even a fleeting instant of being able to joke like this, like nothing's happened. "I could, you know. You'd be helpless. I could do whatever I wanted."

"And this - " He coughs, draws in a careful breath. "This is punishment _how_?"

James smiles. "You big homo."

Jett smiles back, and it looks painful, but it doesn't detract him; he doesn't even flinch. "Speak for yourself."

"Shut up."

His smile widens. "Lucy's?"

"Oh my _god_, you did _not_..." James's grinning and he's never been more grateful for the growing darkness, because he can feel his cheeks darken to red. Lucy's Room. During a party, a round of truth or dare, a lot of catcalls, and maybe the best kiss of James's life. "I hate you. Really, I do.

"I loved the way you kissed."

James stares down at him, and Jett looks more alert than he's looked this whole time, his eyes sharp and focused on James, his lips curled up at the edges, and James feels his heart jump because this is the first time they've talked about it, the first time they've said a word about it beyond "you're such a fag" and "whatever, gay" and falling into fits of giggles.

He doesn't want to think about Jennifer or Lucy, doesn't want to think of how far away they are or what they're thinking right now, doesn't want to think about the fact that he misses her or how scared she must be for him; he just wants to say _Ditto_, wants to say _I'd do it again in a heartbeat_, wants to say _I thought about you for months after, every time I..._

"I'm gonna change out the bandages soon," James says quietly. "I've got some more scraps behind you."

Jett does grab his wrist then, and the grip is weak, shaking, like he's substituting the energy he'd be using to breathe, and James's mouth opens, closes, wanting to tell him _stop, don't, relax_, but catching something in Jett's eyes that tells him not to speak.

"Hey," Jett whispers. "Listen to me. If. If I don't..."

"_No._"

"James."

"NO. We're not having this conversation. No. We're not. Shut up, we're _not_."

And he scrambles away without looking back, grabbing Carlos's and Kendall's shirts from a tree branch a few feet away and ripping them into careful strips. It feels good, tearing up the material; it makes him feel like he's still engaged, still helping; gives him something to do with his hands other than pulling his own hair out or digging his nails into the sand and screaming at the top of his lungs. But there's silence for too long, and the monotony of his task makes his mind start to wander, start to sink into the reality of, well, reality.

James can't work like that. Has to keep himself occupied. Stay busy to stay sane. The sentences work like this in his head now, broken and short as he tries to reassure himself that they're fine, they're fine, everyone who's alive is alive, and that's what matters and in twenty-four hours' time they're going to be in a brightly-lit emergency room somewhere with doctors and telephones and each other.

He isn't much surprised to find that _each other_ is really the only part he cares about in all that.

He checks on Logan when he's done, stays with him longer than he needs to, lying beside him, whispering cheeky nonsense about his state of appearance, pressing an almost inaudible _Love you, Logie_to the side of his head. He wants to stay, just curl up there until Logan wakes up because his stomach's churning at the thought of having to look at Jett now, having to risk any more of that fucking honesty and presumption Jett's always trying to shove at him, just like he has for years. Just like James has _loved_ for years.

It's different now. That's as much justification he can muster, but he takes comfort in its truth.

Jett closes his eyes when James gets back to him, and he hopes Jett can feel the _thank you_ in his fingers when he gently squeezes Jett's hand.

The sun's almost gone when the light splashing alerts them to Carlos's presence. He's got a huge, black plastic garbage bag in his arms, dragging it along the ground, and he upturns it onto the sand when he reaches them, breath heavy from the swim.

James's mouth drops as he scans the muddle of contents: more water bottles, _dry_ pillows and blankets, and Jesus Christ, the fucking first-aid kit.

"Carlos Garcia, I'm gonna marry you," he breathes, crawling across the ground to sift through the items.

"I'm, uh. Gonna go find Ken."

He starts to head off, but James reaches up from the ground, catches his hand, cool from the water but no longer trembling. Instead it's limp, tired, and that worries James even more. He stands up, still clasping Carlos's hand, watching his face for the slightest hint of emotion. Carlos's been mostly numb since it's happened, just following orders in silence, and James doesn't know how to get him out of it, or if he should even try.

"I... thank you," he says. "You've been..."

He wants to say Carlos's being so awesome, perfect, the best help he could ask for; he wants to say he's proud of him and that Carlos should be proud of himself. But he doesn't want to patronize. He sees the way Carlos and Logan talk with their eyes, and he's learned enough to recognize when Carlos doesn't need words.

"Just. Thank you," he says again, softly.

Carlos nods, glancing around, his botJett lip caught between his teeth. "So this is real, huh?"

"I think so. Yeah."

Carlos smiles, automatic, forced and broken. "Thanks for, uh, saving my life?"

It sounds so fucking cheesy, like the end of a bad action movie, but he kind of _did_; he was the first one awake and Carlos was the first one he found. James forces his own smile, because fuck, if they can't keep their spirits up, they're lost.

"You're all scratchy," Carlos points out, reaching his free hand up to James's face to brush over his stubble. "You should shave before you go mackin' all over someone like that."

"Speak for yourself, caveman," James counters, ducking his head.

"Ass." It's quiet, gentle, affectionate as only Carlos can be in his insults. He squeezes James's hand before he lets go, taking off down the strip of beach.

James gets to work digging through the supplies, reverently setting the first-aid kit aside before spreading out one of the clean blankets on the sand. He goes for Logan first, for practice, lifting him up as carefully as he can and placing him on the blanket before turning to Jett.

"Hey, man. I've gotta move your fat ass a few feet, okay?"

Jett's eyes are shut, and it's unusual for him not to force them open and crank out a smile, even in his state.

"Jett. Dude, wake up."

James waits, kneels slowly beside him, waiting for Jett's eyes to spring open and for him to start laughing and saying 'Gotchya!' and _please, please, Jett, just be the dumbass I know you can be._

"Jett."

And it's really, really not funny now.

"_Jett!_" He shakes his shoulder a bit without realizing it, and Jett cracks an eye open.

"H-hi, James Diamond."

"Fucking shit, don't fucking do that, Jesus!"

"Where did you go?"

"I've been here, asshole. Come on, Carlos got us a dry blanket."

"Carlos is here?"

"Yeah, he's - "

It's takes James a second to focus, to take it in - to _let_ his mind take it in. There are about sixty-four things he's dreaded happening for the past few hours, and about eight of them just did.

"Yeah, man. Remember? He went to find Kendall."

"Yeah... okay."

"Yeah," James echoes reassuringly, and he knows, he _knows_, okay, he's not going to say it in his head, not going to admit it, he knows what's happening, and he's going to ignore it as long as he can, as long as it takes him to fix it.

It's careful, tedious work undoing the bandages he toiled so hard to fasten, and as he starts to remove them, the wounds leap out at him like an ambush in a bad dream: ugly, unidentifiable threats that he doesn't know what to make of, how to fight, and he feels like he's sinking, fighting a losing battle and no, no, _no_. Not losing. Not now. Not ever. Not Jett.

They're worse, the wounds.

James doesn't know how much worse or in what way, only that they look worse than he remembered. They're still bleeding, and James has no idea how so much blood could exist in one person, let alone someone as small as Jett. He fights the sharp inhale he's tempted to take, forces slow, even breaths and steady hands as he works, Jett's eyes drifting open and shut as James raids the first-aid kit for antiseptic, and finally lifts Jett onto the dry blanket, careful to keep his skin away from the bumpy, embroidered airplane company logo in the corner.

"You with me, man?" James asks as he secures the last knot of bandage fabric. "Jett?"

"Mm."

"Come here." He reaches for the nearest water bottle, which is hard to locate in the dark. The moon is fucking massive in the clear sky, and it helps. "Come on, drink."

Jett lets himself be handled, lifted up, but when James holds the bottle to his lips, he chokes on the first sip.

"Sorry, sorry." James's eyes are stinging now as he lifts the bottle again, slower. "Try again."

"Can't."

"Yes you can, come on."

"Tastes bad."

"It's water."

"You look scared."

"Should I be?" James challenges, because he's not going to fall apart, he's not. Not going to let Jett get away with anything.

Jett swallows, the effort visible in his expression. "James. If I don't - "

"NO, fuck you, _no_. We've been over this. No if's. We're good, we're fine, you hear me?"

Jett watches him with unblinking eyes, until exhaustion sets in and they drop shut, blinking open every few seconds as reassurance.

"James."

Carlos's voice shoots through his ears unexpected, and he spins around to see Carlos alone, silhouetted in the moonlight against the expanse of ocean and sky.

"Where..." James starts.

"He's... he knows where we are."

"Is he..."

"I." Carlos stares at the ground. "I don't think he's gonna talk for awhile."

James doesn't say anything. Words haven't gotten him very far tonight, it seems. If anything, they keep getting him in trouble.

"It's not - you know."

James watches as Carlos seats himself beside Logan, facing James and Jett. He waits for Carlos to continue, still not trusting his own voice.

"It's not your fault. He's grief-stricken. He's irrational, he's just - "

"I know, Los," he whispers, because he can't hear any more right now.

Carlos takes the hint, keeps himself quiet and motionless on the blanket. Time passes undocumented, dragging into the night and James can't tell if an hour's passed or two or five, or ten minutes. The utter silence of their surroundings is something he's never experienced his whole life; just the sounds of soft water and light wind, no traffic, no humming refrigerator, no muffled car engine. It's terrifying and beautiful all at once, and part of him wishes he could hold onto it for longer than just a day, or two, or however long they're going to be here.

He's waking Jett up every ten minutes to check on him, talk to him, and Carlos is assigned himself to Logan duty, and it works, like this, the silence. Nothing happens and that's good. Nothing happening is really fucking good right now, James thinks.

When the sound of footsteps breaks into their little square of beach, James is the first to look up.

Kendall's eyes are on him before he can even adjust to the light. James can't read them, but it's not from the darkness. No one speaks, and after a moment, Kendall turns and takes a few steps toward the water, stopping at the edge and dropping down, hugging his knees to his chest as he stares out at the water. James has never seen him this composed, this calm or quiet, and it's the kind of thing he'd always thought would be nice to see once in awhile, but all he wants now is to turn back time to the moment that morning when Kendall burst into Jett's room in the midst of the pillow fight and jumped right in, practically begging for the gang-bang tickle fight that followed.

If there's one thing James would give anything to hear right now, it's the sound of Kendall's laughter.

Jett coughs suddenly, shaking him out of his thoughts. Carlos tenses beside him, sitting up, and even Kendall turns around.

"Jett, you okay - " James stops as his hand touches Jett's forehead. "Fucking shit, you're burning up. Los - "

Carlos is on it, soaking a scrap of material with some clean water from a bottle, and James hastens to press it to Jett's head.

"What're you trying to do to me, asshole?" James demands, his voice breaking as he leans over Jett. "What's going on? Where does it hurt?"

Jett coughs again, forcing his eyes open. "Doesn't anymore," he chokes.

"No. No. Come on. Tell me. Don't be a lazy-ass, man, come on. I'll fix it. I'll - come the fuck _on_, Jett, stay with me - "

He can feel Kendall's eyes on him, and out of the corner of his eye he can feel Carlos poised, wanting to say something, but he knows what it'll be and he won't fucking take it.

"Hey," Jett says.

"Hey yourself. Come on. Keep talking to me."

"I love you, you fucker."

"No, no, come on, knock it off. Don't be a dick. This isn't the fucking movies, Jett, don't do goodbyes, you don't know _shit_, you're better than this, we can _do_ this - "

"James..." Carlos starts, the preemptive flinch audible in his voice.

"NO," James snaps, eyes dark as they flash to Carlos's. "Don't you dare." He turns back to Jett, tipping drops of cool water from the bottle onto his fingertips and spreading them gently over Jett's face. "Come on, man, tell me what to do. Please. Jett, please. Just tell me what to do."

His voice is gone now, devoid of the strength he's been forcing into it since this started, it's breaking and he's not fighting the tears anymore, just letting them drop to Jett's face, hoping they'll tell him everything James can't put into words.

"Come on," he whispers. "Tell me. Just. Fuck, _fuck_, tell me."

"You listen," Jett says quietly. "That's what you do now. Shut up and listen."

It's the worst silence of James's life, and the most unfair request, but he's never been able to deny Jett anything.

Jett takes a breath. "Tell Lucy I love her."

He can hear Carlos choking back a noise, and fuck, just, fuck, and _no_.

"Tell." He stops, waits until he's sure James's eyes are steady on his. "Tell James Diamond I've had a crush on him since he moved in, and if Jennifer weren't around he'd really have to watch his ass."

James hates the part of him that wants to laugh then, because it makes the ache in his chest and the lump in his throat a thousand times worse, makes the pounding in his head send him far into dizziness, and he can't hold himself up anymore, falling down onto the scratchy brown blanket beside Jett, one arm draped over his chest, head nestled against his shoulder, holding him as tight as he dares. Everything's fuzzy and nothing feels real and he thinks Jett maybe whispers "Love you" against his hair and he thinks he maybe whispers it back, and he doesn't know how long it is before he notices that the heartbeat under his hand has stopped, the breath on his ear is gone, and Carlos's silent sobs are no longer silent.

His scream hits the darkness, shatters the last of his control, the last ounce of hope that this had been a dream.

This is not that dream.

This is not any dream, because dreams have an end.

And this is only the beginning.


	2. Chapter 2

_"I love you."_

It's maybe the thousandth time Guitar Dude has said the words, but the first since they'd started spending their nights like this, sweaty and glued to each other's skin, falling asleep and waking up with tangled limbs and giggly smiles, always ready to poke fun at each other for what they've so inevitably become.

Kendall hears the words roll over and over in his head after they strike the air between them, and Logan is the first thing to pop into his mind.

He's not sure why, can't tell if what he's feeling is more regret or disappointment; regret for all the years he's spent - wasted - waiting for Logan to be the one to say those words to him, be the first one toever_say those words to him in that context._

Disappointment because he knows now, Logan never will.

It's over_, a voice in his head whispers gently, trying to let him down easy, not wanting to agitate the other voice that's so close to screaming_I know, I know.__

He says it back, and Guitar Dude never asks if Kendall means it the same way Guitar Dude does.

When Kendall watches James Diamond, _James fucking Diamond _fall to pieces right before his eyes, it's kind of like spenceing Guitar Dude all over again - and really, he hasn't finished spenceing him the first time.

It's registered; he's certain of that. He might slip into denial still at some point, but right now, he's aware. Five hours crying out the last ounce of moisture in his body gave him enough time to process _Guitar Dude, gone_ enough times in his head to finally believe it; five hours spent driving his fingers deep into the sand like he was trying to crawl out of this nightmare reality, making fruitless fistfuls of the grains, desperate to hold onto something solid, and watching, helpless, as it slipped through his fingers every time.

He hasn't done this, like Logan has. Death. His grandparents on both sides are still alive, and the last funeral he'd attended was age thirteen for someone in their church he'd never met. He'd never given much thought to what it would feel like, but he's pretty sure if he had, his predictions would've been nothing like this.

This - this is no dream. His subconscious wouldn't have the power to concoct something this bad, this _real_, this terrifyingly acute: James draped over Jett's body (Jett's _body_, not Jett, not Jett, not anymore _how is this happening_), crying in a way Kendall's never seen before because, well, he's never seen James cry before. He's seen him sad, hurt, even angry, but never cry.

It hurts to see it. Hurts not just inside but like knives and beatings too; goes straight to the bone. It makes Kendall's stomach turn and twist, and the anger he'd built against James shifts, mutates, turns on him until Kendall's more angry at himself, angry that he can't _be_ angry at James right now, angry at himself for feeling the desire to rush to his side and take James in his arms when all he wants to do is effect merciless revenge at the universe for taking the only chance life ever gave him at that kind of happiness.

It doesn't end there, either.

There's Carlos too - Carlos, to whom Kendall's felt strangely connected since it started, being the first thing he saw, being the one who saved him (though right now Kendall doesn't want to be saved, hates Carlos too, wishes he'd just left him, because if there's one lesson the past hours have taught him, it's that there are things worse than death). There's Carlos, trying to pry James away and hold him and keep him tight against Carlos's body, but James's fighting him off, fighting everything but his own instincts that keep him glued to Jett's side in vain, as though his pain, his touch, will be strong enough to bring Jett back.

Kendall thinks if anyone's touch were magical enough to restore life, it would be James Diamond's.

But there's no magic here, only hope, thinning by the minute.

"James - "

"Fuck the _fuck_ off!"

"James, _please_, we have to - "

"Leave me the fuck alone! Just fucking leave us ALONE!"

Kendall recognizes the emotion in James's voice, and suddenly feels like he's watching his five-hour-ago self from a distance, like a dream again, but it's not it's _not it's not_, everything is real, and when Carlos catches Kendall's eye, crouched helpless beside James, his gaze half begging but not daring to, knowing it's too much to ask of Kendall right now - something inside his mind slips back into place, back to some shred of logic that used to exist before all of this, that tells him something greater than himself exists right now. He knows this shot of rationality won't last, knows his own pain is going to come back and take over him without warning, so he jumps. He jumps on it, takes it, uses it.

Lunging forward across the few steps of space, he drops to his knees beside the tangle of boys on the ground and wraps his body around James's, not trying to pull him off or interfere, just keeping him in contact, burying his face into James's neck, and Kendall feels words leaving his mouth, doesn't know how they got there or what's coming out until later, until James begins to go limp in his arms.

"Hold onto me," he whispers into James's salty-damp hair. "Hold onto me and don't let go."

It takes long, heart-racing minutes that drag through the warm, breezy air, a temperature in ugly contrast with the realities they're wrapped (_trapped_) in, but he keeps it up, keeps spilling the words into James's hair until James resigns himself with choked, surrendering sobs that fall silent and thunder through his whole body. But he turns, he shifts, he lets Kendall pull him around until they're face to face, wrapped tight around each other and holding on like they're all that's keeping each other afloat.

Because they are.

Carlos hesitates a moment before leaning over, gathering Jett's body into his arms and struggling to his feet. As Carlos's face slips into a ray of moonlight, Kendall can see his eyes, still wet, red around the edges, but Carlos stays silent as ever even though his body is visibly shaking. Kendall can't hear his labored footsteps pad down the beach over the sound of James, but something tells him Carlos's not going far. Just far enough to...

Out of sight, out of mind.

If only it were that easy.

Kendall expects James to set him off; expects the lump in his throat to resurface, expects his eyes to sting and another impossible flood to start spilling, but nothing happens. The painful tightness in his throat seems to have shifted residence to his chest, and until now he'd thought heartache was a metaphor.

It's only one more impossible reality springing to life tonight, he realizes. One more dream that should've stayed a dream and didn't.

James is holding him as much as he's holding James now, and Kendall tries to count in his head to keep himself sane. He makes fourteen attempts to count to a hundred before he gets there, his mind slipping off track and sending him into places that make him feel like his heart's going to break out of his chest and the contents of his stomach are going to shoot back up.

Death, he realizes somewhere in the last chorus, is like music. Uncontrollable, and unstoppable. It will persist even when we don't.

It's ages before he notices Carlos has returned, carefully settled himself on the other side of James. The commotion's somehow gotten them closer to Logan, and there's barely enough space between James and Logan for Carlos to fit, but it works like that, it's the only shred of perfection in this chaos, the way they all fit right in this moment, with James and Kendall tangled together and Carlos on his back beside them, one hand resting on James's hip and the other twined with Logan's fingers, keeping them all locked, connected, the four of them, and even though Kendall knows he should be terrified, knows he should trust nothing and fear everything, there's a moment when he feels safe, wholly safe, because while nothing else makes sense, it's _James_ and _Carlos_ and _Logan_ and, and him. And they're alive, and together.

And maybe that moment's just the eye of the storm, but they've weathered enough storms together, and they can fucking take this one too.

Kendall shivers when James finally stops crying.

The sounds filtering through the silence make him sick for how beautiful they are, when nothing right now should be beautiful. The soft, steady hush of waves against the shore, the nocturnal voices of a million bugs and animals and fuck only knows what else, fusing into a low, distant hum. Those stupid tropical rainforest CDs Logan's so fond of don't do this justice; right now Kendall feels wrapped in it, cocooned. He can't decide whether it's comforting or maddening that the rest of life here carries on undisturbed, unaffected.

He wants to sleep, but he's afraid of waking up, because he knows there'll be that moment when he first slips back into consciousness, forgets where he is, and reaches instinctively for Guitar Dude, and then he'll have to live it all over again in his head, and he can't.

He _can't._

He hears Carlos shift to check on Logan at intervals, and James's lashes flutter against Kendall's throat every so often.

This night isn't meant for sleep.

He keeps his eyes closed though, and it isn't until hours later, when Carlos's hand finds his, laces their fingers together and squeezes gently before pulling away, that he opens them to find dawn creeping in around them.

When he pulls himself up, feeling the sand shift and give beneath the blanket under him, he sees Carlos on James's other side, sitting cross-legged beside Logan, staring down at Logan's face the way Kendall stares at a new piece of music, studying, waiting for it to speak to him. Carlos has one of Logan's hands nestled in both of his, and after a moment he lifts it to his mouth, pressing a few silent words into the palm, and it doesn't even occur to Kendall that Logan couldn't possibly hear the words like that. The way they communicate transcends possibility, and Kendall's always envied it.

But it's hard to envy Carlos for anything right now, with the look on his face, that look of dormant panic - patient, waiting, but poised to explode at the slightest push.

It's not difficult to read that look. Guitar Dude; Jett. Carlos is the only one left who hasn't been taken by the suffering he's been forced to witness, twice. It's his turn next, he must think.

Kendall stops the train of thought right fucking there, because Logan isn't just Carlos's to lose.

Carlos meets his eyes after a long while, still clutching Logan's hand, massaging gentle circles into his wrist.

"I'm gonna go back to the plane for some stuff," he says quietly.

"No."

Kendall starts at the sound; it'd been so easy to forget James was awake.

"I'll go," James says flatly, pulling himself up and looking at no one. "You've been working really hard, you need to rest."

"I'm okay, James - "

"No, I'll go."  
"Look, it's not like I'm gonna sleep, so."

Kendall holds his breath. Carlos can argue almost anything to the bitter death, has been learning it from Logan for upwards of fifteen years, clearly - and right now, Kendall doesn't trust James not to fight back.

And that thought freaks him out a little, because there's never been one moment, ever, where he hasn't trusted James completely.

"We'll need to find water," James says, still looking out over the ocean, his voice a monotone shell of the one Kendall knows. "And make some kind of shelter."

He reaches out for the water bottle he'd opened for Jett the night before, squeezes it tight to keep his hands from shaking, but it's to no avail. He manages to down a few long, fast swigs before replacing the cap and rising to his feet. Kendall watches, ummoving, unused to his role as silent observer, while Carlos stands as well, planting himself in front of James and watching him closely, waiting for James to meet his eyes. He takes one of James's hands in his, planting the other on James's shoulder, and leans in to whisper something in his ear. His lips keep moving, but Kendall can't make out a single word, just feels his breath catch in his throat when James finally turns into Carlos, letting his face fall against Carlos's neck, and after a few more words, he nods, and Carlos releases him, allowing him to step out into the water.

Maybe Carlos is a little bit magic, too.

Kendall hasn't moved since he first sat up, knees hugged close against his bare chest and his chin resting atop them. He knows he must look small and helpless, because Logan's always told him that's how he looks in that position, but right now he doesn't care because that's exactly how he feels.

When Carlos drops down beside him, he tries to keep focused on the grains of sand that have brushed onto the blanket, but Carlos's eyes are too strong, too fucking _brown_, to look anywhere else.

"You want some water?" he asks softly.

Kendall does, he's parched, hasn't had anything to drink since yesterday, but his mind doesn't seem to be communicating very well with his body, and he can't bring himself to nod.

Carlos figures it out anyway, scoops up a fresh bottle and unscrews the cap, holding it out. Kendall drinks, but slowly, carefully, knowing the value of what's spilling down his throat, and hesitant to be greedy.

Logan will need this more, when he wakes up.

"We've got enough to last for a bit," Carlos says, pushing himself up onto his knees. "I'm gonna try to make some kind of, thing, first. A cover, or something. Logan should be out of the sun, I think."

Kendall nods automatically, not missing the uncertainty in Carlos's voice, desperate for reassurance, encouragement that he's doing the right thing. Kendall wishes he could offer it.

"Do you want..."

Kendall looks at him again, Carlos's chocolate browns only inches from his, and it's clear Carlos really doesn't want to have to finish that sentence. Kendall tries to read his eyes the way Logan does, tries hard, stares straight into them, knowing the unspoken words could've been anything from "to help" or "to talk" or...

He blinks, and it registers.

Anything. Do you want _anything_.

"I mean," Carlos tries again, "do you need - "

"I'm fine."

And he tries to ignore the way Carlos winces, because they both know Kendall's not fine and Kendall knows it's insulting for him to bullshit like this, knows it's a blow to the way Carlos's trying so hard to help, but he just - he can't, he can't _do_ this, not now.

Carlos leans in, pressing his lips to Kendall's forehead. It's several moments before he pulls away, and he doesn't look at Kendall when he stands back up, heading off toward the trees to start yanking aimlessly at vines.  
Kendall watches him for ninety seconds before he starts to lose his mind.

"I'm, uh. Water," he announces, scrambling to his feet.

"What?" Carlos peers out from behind a branch, poster-sized leaves framing his face.

"I'm. Gonna go look for water."

"Oh. Um. Do you want to wait? I mean, I could go with you."

"I'm fine."

"Ken, it might not be safe."

"I'm fine."

"Dude, there could be like, animals and shit. We don't know what's out there."

_The truth is out there_, the nerd portion of Kendall's brain automatically supplies. Inwardly rolling his eyes, he turns around. "What are you gonna do, glare at them to death? We don't have any fucking weapons, Carlos."

Carlos doesn't speak. And it makes sense, really, because Kendall just reached a level of jackass that only James generally attains, and Carlos's M.O. in those moments is stare silently until James sighs an apology. Kendall wants to, he does, he knows Carlos is only trying to look out for him, but at the moment, he doesn't want to be looked out for. At the moment, he kind of doesn't care about getting attacked by black mambas or whatever the hell they've got here, wherever the fucking hell they _are_. And it's immature and it's pigheaded and he doesn't fucking _care_, not now.

Without another word, he spins on his heel and stalks off down the beach.

All along the shore there's about thirty feet of sand between the shoreline and the, whatever it is, forest that seems to line the island. If it's even an island. Rainforest, if he's being ambitious, but that'd have to be Indonesia and that's just. Well that's just way too fucking far off the plane's course. And that doesn't align with the logic his mind is clinging to, because no one would come _looking_ for them this far off course, and they're going to be looked for, they are.

Even though, in this moment, he doesn't care.

He spends long enough trekking down the stretch of beach, until he locates a good portion where the forest falls open a bit and heads in. His shoes are still wet and squishy, but he doesn't dare take them off. He feels like he's just walked into a fucking zoo exhibit: the sound of waves and ocean air are shut out immediately and he's drowning in the noises of creatures he can't see, birds and insects. Everything's shocking colors, not the dull, muted brown-gray of woods back home. Green is storybook green, National Geographic green; the plants that have colors fucking _have colors_, like a kid took a ninety-six pack of Crayola and went to town. There's an eerie over-saturation of purity that seems to permeate the place: it's kind of almost too perfect. The ground is uneven, dips and rises unpredictably, but seems to be moving steadily upward. Sharp lines of sun shoot randomly through the never-ending trees, but other than that, everything is canopied by treetops and more of those huge-ass fucking leaves Carlos had been struggling with. Nothing looks like anything he knows: tree trunks are covered in _stuff_; the ground isn't dirt really but it's brown; he doesn't recognize a single plant and he's starting to forget what direction he came in.  
A few hundred feet in, he slips and steps on some kind of reptilian _thing_ that screams bloody murder and inspires some half a dozen other invisible creatures to respond with vocals of their own. It sends Kendall tearing back off through the trees before he can even react, crashing through brush and leaves until he tumbles back onto the beach in a heap.

When he gets back to camp, Carlos has gotten himself a fine pile of vines beside Logan in the sand, and is in the process of attempting to mutilate a branch bearing a particularly grand collection of leaves. It might be a bit more impressive to watch if he weren't trying to execute said mutilation with his bare hands.

He watches Carlos's back for several minutes, not wanting to disturb, and listens to him spew filthy swear words at the branch until he shoves it aside with a sigh.

"Jesus fuck, Ken," he spits when he turns around. "You scared the shit outta - " His forehead creases as he takes in Kendall's appearance, which Kendall suspects is less than stellar. "What happened?"

"I stepped on a lizard," he explains quietly.

Something passes over Carlos's face that looks like it really wanted to turn into laughter, but whatever it was, Carlos bites it back, crawling out of the mess of trees and brushing off his hands.

"No water?"

"No."

Carlos nods, bending over to pick something off the ground. "James found snacks."

Kendall takes it, turning the package over in his hand: a vending-machine sized bag of trail mix. His stomach grumbles in anticipation, but he shakes his head. "Save it."

"Kendall."

"I'm fine."

"You need to eat."

"Save it for Logan. He'll be starving when he wakes up."

There's the horrible, heart-sinking syllable, _if_, that lies unspoken in the air, and Kendall knows Carlos can feel it too.

"Logan can hunt for his own damn trail mix," Carlos says with a tiny smile, and it's a feeble attempt to keep the moment light, Kendall can see right through it, but he doesn't say a word. "Go on. Eat it. Not negotiable."

Arguing with Carlos is not worth it ninety-nine percent of the time, and something tells Kendall this is not that one percent.

"Where's James?" he asks as he takes a seat next to Logan and rips open the package.

"Making another trip."

It's so strange now, talking. It feels so pointless, and _wrong_. It feels wrong, talking like it's nothing, like they're in the bus lounge and Logan's inside at the gas station picking up everyone's favorite because he knows what they are without having to ask, and it's just. It's wrong. It feels like Kendall's giving himself permission to be okay, even to _appear_ okay, and he's not.

He finishes the bag in four bites, but he doesn't feel any better.

"Do you want another?" Carlos asks hesitantly. "We've got chips, too - "

Kendall shakes his head, firm and sharp. He can't bear the sound of his own voice now. It sounds nothing like he knows his voice to sound, and it makes him shiver to hear it.

"I can go with you, when I'm done. If you want. Or... you know. If you want to just be alone. It's. Yeah."

His voice trails off, and Kendall doesn't encourage him with a response.

Carlos gives up after a moment, stepping back into the trees and getting back to work. Kendall watches him, fighting a thousand urges at once - to follow Carlos and help; to crawl up against Logan and sleep for days, years; to scream at the top of his lungs until Guitar Dude appears in front of him, smiling and solid and alive.

Fighting so many urges makes his breath short, his mouth dry, his head dizzy.

He turns and heads back down the beach, finding his patch of open trees, and the contrast of still-fresh familiarity draws him in at once. It's different this time, eyes alert and trained to the ground at each step he takes, following the path he'd broken down the first time.

The lizard is where he'd left it.

He figures it's not hurt because it's moved to a rock, limbs intact, everything symmetrical and eyes bulging with awareness. Kendall crouches down beside it, propped up on his elbows as he stares into its eyes, only minimally concerned whether it's going to spit poison or spew blood from its eye, the way he's seen on TV.  
"I'm sorry, buddy," he whispers. "You're a trooper. I'm impressed."

He's silent for a long moment, during which he contemplates the possibility that he's either losing his mind (it was just a matter of time, Logan's always said), or really in a dream just as he suspected all along, because he's pretty sure he's supposed to be on a plane from LaGuardia to McCarran right about now, seatbelts fastened and chairs in their full upright position, tray tables stowed away - but instead he's on a deserted island somewhere unidentifiably in the Pacific and he's talking to a lizard.

He considers the possibilities, the impossibilities, for seven more minutes, until he's convinced time has stopped, and it makes him feel oddly safe.

He doesn't know how much time passes if it passes at all. He keeps talking, tells the lizard about the first time he met Dak Zevon and how Dak's mouth is really so much better suited for things other than modeling, and how fucking hilarious that night was, except of course for the part where he puked all over Jett's duffel bag and Jett didn't speak to him for a whole week until James convinced him otherwise. He sings, soft and whispered, nearly drowned by the steady noise around him, and tries to channel Logan's voice because he misses the fucking hell out of it, and he figures the lizard deserves a memory of the song as it's meant to be. He moves on to the Beatles, his mouth parched by the time he's halfway through Sgt. Pepper's, and he's sung straight through two meals the lizard's made out of things that have crawled onto his rock and he's resisted making Beatles jokes both times and he thinks for him that's really fucking amazing.  
Losing his mind isn't nearly as unpleasant as Logan had always threatened.

But the walls of his escape begin to wear thin, and his time-ceasing theory shatters when he starts to notice the rays of sun disappearing, fading off in groups and he's just climbing to his feet to start back, or start _somewhere_, when a rustle behind him snaps his head around.

He holds his breath as the sound gets louder, trying to remind himself that there are things worse than death, and it's not until the sound of his name hits the air that he spills out a breath, shaky and relieved and angry all at once.

"Kendall?" Carlos's head half-appears for an instant, veiled behind a branch. "Kendall, are you - "

Their eyes catch, and Carlos lunges forward, hovering in Kendall's space.

"Where the _fuck_ have you been?"

"Right fucking here, I haven't moved!"

"You've been gone for like, six hours! We've been looking everywhere, fucking _shit_, Kendall, we thought you were hurt! Why didn't you fucking tell me where you - "

"No - no, _no_." And Kendall can feel his voice starting to crack, can see the mess that Carlos's crumbling to, panicked and infuriated, but he pushes it aside. "No, no, you don't. You do _not_ get to be angry with me, not when - "

"Kendall - we thought - " His voice is choked now, the words less spoken than sobbed. "Jesus, we thought you were fucking _dead_!"

"Well I'm NOT! I'm fucking NOT, okay? So fuck you, you're still the luckiest son of a bitch here, okay? No one you love is fucking gone, so just - "

"Ken - "

"No. _No_. You do _not_ get to be angry, Carlos, you still have Logan and you have us and you have no FUCKING idea what this feels like, so don't think you get to fall apart like the rest of us and act like you've lost someone too, okay? Because you fucking _haven't_!"

He's gone then, pushing past Carlos and retracing his steps as fast he can until he meets the sand, and finally, finally, he kicks off his shoes, tearing off down the beach in a sick deja vu of the night before, the first hint of sunset breaking out over the horizon, and he can hardly breathe for how thirsty he is, can hardly see straight through exhaustion and hunger, but he keeps running until he reaches the wall of cliffs, only this time he doesn't stop.

Climbing up the bank, over the rocks and sand, he makes his way up to the platform of the first cliff, adjusting to the even ground, the sandy-rocky-grassy surface under his feet. It's not until he draws in a breath, steadies his balance, and plants himself on the ground a few feet from the edge, legs crossed Indian-style, that it strikes him.

He's high up enough that the breeze is stronger, the air cooler, and the sight before him - impossible.

He can see out over the whole ocean, down over the island and the white crests of waves, and out into the entire sky, splashed with shocking lines of fire-orange and bright pink, shades of purple and yellow and everything in between, practically fluorescent, as the red half-circle of sun slips gradually into the slowly darkening expanse of water.

It's perfection. It's fucking _perfection_, and Kendall hates it, hates how anything could have the nerve to be perfect now,_now_, when his world has just crashed down around him.

He spends a long time there, or so it seems, trying to steady his breaths and keep the tears from spilling. He succeeds until one pointed memory strikes him unbidden, and then it's over.

"Hi."

It takes a moment for the sound to break into his consciousness, so the shock value is lost in the journey.

He doesn't have to turn around to know it's James.

James doesn't expect him to, either; doesn't wait for acknowledgment, just slowly steps forward and plants himself down beside Kendall, mirroring his position. Kendall wishes his hair were just a little longer, long enough to cover his eyes right now, because he knows it must be obvious they've been busy, red and swollen and still wet. But James doesn't look at him, just stares out at nothing in particular, at the ocean and the sunset and maybe the faint clouds in the distance, outlined in glowing oranges and reds.

Their knees touch, and Kendall's fingers twitch with the urge to place his hand on James's knee, wanting to just crawl into his lap and be protected, insulated, the way James will do for any and all of them after a rough studio session, his solid touch stroking through hair or lightly down backs, kneading tight shoulders or smacking an ass just to get a reaction, a grin, a chuckle.

Kendall wonders how long it'll be before he'll smile again.

"I found your suitcase," James says quietly.

Kendall doesn't care. His suitcase is full of Guitar Dude's t-shirts and socks and underwear and he doesn't want that in his head, or in front of him, or anywhere near him, as much as he craves it.

"I, uh - your glasses, we can use them to make like, fires and stuff."

Kendall doesn't care about making fires, either. A brief thought flashes through him, the thought that he cares in the context of Logan, and if Logan's sick, he'll need fires, and they'll need to cook him things, and keep him warm, but that's all. Besides that, fuck fire. It doesn't matter. He doesn't want to eat and he doesn't care to be warm.

Kendall doesn't know what makes him say, "Carlos probably hates me."

He must. He really must. All that time they could've spent looking for water, they spent looking for Kendall, and now the day's gone and it's too late.

He can see James watching him closely out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn't turn. He knows he can't hide when he looks into James's eyes, can't put up any fronts. And right now, walls and fronts and hiding, that's all he has.

"Ken, he's - " James sighs. "Don't you get it? He's... he's seen what we've gone through. He's scared shitless of feeling what we've felt. And - it's not just Logan he's thinking of. He fucking loves you, Kendall. I - I love you."

Kendall can't handle emotion in any context right now, can't say it back even though the words are right on his tongue. He's got to hold himself together, keep his distance or he'll lose it, and suddenly, finally, _finally_, he has a momentary understanding of the mystery that has been Logan Mitchell for the five years he's know him.

"He loves you too," Kendall says instead.

"I know," James whispers, dropping his eyes to the ground.

"No, like." Kendall looks up then, studying James's profile. "He really fucking loves you. Total man-crush for like three years now."

James cracks a weak half-smile before looking up. "Yeah?"

Kendall nods. "But if you ever tell him I said that, I think he'd kill us both."

James's smile widens for a split second before fading altogether, and when his eyes lock with Kendall's, Kendall doesn't feel exposed, falling, helpless the way he'd expected. He feels safe. He feels like he's being _kept_ safe.

"I didn't mean it," Kendall croaks, feeling the choking lump return to his throat. "I didn't mean what I said to him - "

"I know."

"I love him."

"I know, Ken."

"Does he?"

"Yeah. He knows."

For a long time, neither speaks, and their gazes drift apart, back to the safety of open space before them, and Kendall's heart pounds for the unspoken words lodged in his throat.

"He." Kendall pauses, weighing the risk of letting the name hit the air. "Jett. He knew."

James flinches, but doesn't break. "I should've told him."

"You did, James."

"I should've told him every day."

"_He knew_."

Kendall hears him draw in a breath, long and careful and a little ragged.

"Guitar Dude knew, too," James says.

And suddenly Kendall admires James's ability to hold himself together, because hearing the name really does hit like a gunshot, but he's not going to fall apart, he's not, he's _not_.

"...Ken?"

It's only now Kendall realizes how hard he's been squeezing James's hand, but he can't seem to let go.

"You don't have to be strong for me," James whispers, and it's enough.

It's enough that the first choked sob breaks out from Kendall's lips and he's throwing himself at James, head smushed against James's chest, and James is warm, so warm, and smells like sand and ocean and _James_, dirty and sweaty but still James, and his arms are stronger than Kendall remembers, holding him close so he couldn't get away even if he wanted to.

Kendall wants to say it then, but he wants to say it looking into James's eyes, wants James to _know_ it, wants to see him hear it. When he finally pulls back, James lets him, keeping their hands firmly clasped.

"I love you," Kendall says. "So fucking much. I'm sorry, I'm sorry I said - "

"Shut up, I love you too," James says without hesitation, and before Kendall can say another word, James leans forward and presses the lightest of kisses to the corner of Kendall's mouth, chaste and quick and soft, sweet enough that Kendall's eyes fall shut, and when he opens them, James's still watching him.

"Don't die," Kendall says stupidly. "Ever."

"I'll do my best."

And just like that, conversation is possible again.

Kendall knows, now. He understands it doesn't mean he's okay, doesn't even imply it. But something in him can breathe again - just a little, but it's a beginning.

So far off yet right before their eyes, the red crescent of sun dips a little lower, sinking into the horizon. Kendall squeezes James's hand for strength, not trusting the words to come out right, or at all.

"He always wanted to photograph the perfect sunset."

He feels James's eyes on him, but keeps his own forward, already sensing the tentative sting of tears.

"So did Jett," James whispers.

"It's not _right_."

"No."

But there's something _right_ in this: the admission, the mutual acknowledgment that this is wrong, that life has cheated them and the ones they loved from everything they deserved. And it's not vindication, not even close - but it's something. Not enough, but something.

There's only a sliver of sun left when James breaks the silence.

"Come with me?" he offers softly, fingers curling tight around Kendall's.

Kendall doesn't have to nod, only follows as James pulls them both to their feet.

It's strange, to Kendall, not being alone on the walk back. The unending strip of beach had become his in this short time, in his frantic, dizzy trips up and back, served him well in his escapes, and he'd never taken his time. Never stopped to look out at the water, never had the comforting lines of James's silhouette to steal glances at; never watched the damp sand squish and mould around his feet.

In another world, another life... it might have been the kind of peace he'd been searching for his whole life.

Carlos is still at work when they get back, and it's kind of insane what he's done to the place, insanely _amazing_. The vines are holding branches together that meet in a triangle over Logan and a tangle of blankets on the ground. Draped across the top are more blankets, and surrounding the sides is a vast collection of the giant leaves he'd struggled with so hard.

When they approach, Carlos is occupied with spreading ointment from the first-aid kid over the cut on Logan's head. Logan is as Kendall remembers, no more, no less. His heart can't decide whether to leap or sink.

On the one hand, no news is good news.

On the other... the longer he's out...

No.

Just, no.

_No._

Carlos stands when he sees them, but doesn't approach, just stands there, planted awkwardly beside the makeshift shelter, eyes fixed unreadably to Kendall's.

Kendall keeps walking slowly toward him, hoping maybe everything between them will sort itself out by the time he's there, but it doesn't matter, because the moment he's within arm's reach, Carlos's yanking him forward and holding him tight against his chest and Kendall's arms curl automatically around him, clinging tight as he can with no clothes between them, no fabric to grab onto. Carlos is warm too, like James, solid but soft, and Carlos doesn't really stay still long enough to get a hug in, so it's easy to forget how good it feels to be in his arms.

Kendall doesn't ever want to forget that, ever again.

"You're a dumbass, you fucking dumbass," Carlos whispers into his hair. "I love the shit out of you and don't you fucking forget it."

Kendall nods, squeezing tears back into his eyes. "I love you too. I'm sorry."

"Shut up, just. Shut up. I've got you."

And Kendall shuts up, because Carlos is right. Carlos is always right.

He stays, letting himself be held, letting Carlos stroke his hair and his back, and it's so easy to get lost in it that he almost doesn't hear the words that break into the moment.

"Get a room already, what the fuck."

They separate at once, glancing automatically toward James, but James's eyes are elsewhere, lower, and bugging out of his head.

Kendall jerks his head around to the ground beneath the shelter roof, and Carlos follows suit, and for the first time since it started, Kendall hopes to god he's _not_ dreaming.

Half dazed and half awake and one hundred percent amused, Logan blinks up at them through a tired smirk, his massive brown eyes the most beautiful thing Kendall can remember seeing in twenty-two years.


	3. Chapter 3

_Kendall finds him outside the ballroom, in a side hallway off the main entrance, slouched against one of the lounge sofas with a half-empty (half-full?) champagne flute, thin and delicate, perched between fingers of the same description. He's so still, so unobtrusive, it might look like he's merged with the cushions, but he smiles when their eyes meet because if anyone could find him, it would be Kendall._

"Hey you."

"Hey."

"What are you doing out here?"

Logan gestures vaguely toward the ballroom, the distant sounds of music, voices, and clinking crystal soft in his ears. "Noise."

Kendall nods. Logan is grateful that he understands, even if it makes little sense even to himself, how he can play night after night in the midst of pounding amps and thousands of screaming kids, but an overly animated wedding reception sends him off into the wings with a creased forehead and tense shoulders.

"You want to be alone?"

Logan shakes his head, patting a square of sofa beside him, and Kendall accepts.

"Can't believe Gustavo got married," Kendall muses.

"Yeah. I thought he was gay for like two years."

Kendall chuckles. "I know, right?"

"Speaking of gay, where is your boyfriend?" he prods with a grin, poking Kendall's leg.

"Uh." Kendall smiles down at his clasped hands before looking up at Logan. "Dancing with your girlfriend."

Logan grins. "We should've seen it coming."

"Yeah. Actually, he, uh." Kendall wrinkles his nose, scratches nervously at the back of his neck. "He said if I don't ask you to dance, he and Camille are gonna run off together."

"I see," Logan nods thoughtfully, if a little lazily from the champagne buzz. "Well, I guess you'd better ask me, then."

"Are you serious? I actually have to ask?"

"Hey, Guitar Dude set the rules, not me."

"You're an asshole." Kendall grins, pinching what little flesh there is at Logan's hip.

"Yeah. Dance with me."

Logan drags himself off the couch, slipping his hand into Kendall's so he pulls them both to their feet, instantly curling his hand around Kendall's waist.

"Hey, who says you get to lead?" Kendall smirks.

"Because I'm older, and you're gay, now shut up."

"I hate you."

"You're a very impolite dance partner. Behave."

"Yes, sir," Kendall whispers, trying to bite back his grin as he leans in, the side of his face just barely touching Logan's.

Logan's relieved, because he doesn't think he could spend a whole song staring into Kendall's eyes. They'd either start laughing, or Kendall would start making weird faces or wouldn't stop talking, or Logan would end up staring at Kendall's mouth.

His heart skips a beat at that last thought, specifically at the fact that he just

thought _it._

Fuck alcohol, and all the fucking honesty that breaks out with it.

"How have we known each other all our lives and I've never conned you into a dance until now?" Kendall whispers suddenly, each breathy syllable tickling Logan's ear as their bodies sway slowly together, lightly in contact, but holding back the slightest bit, if they'd be willing to admit it.

Because I know what it means to you, Logan doesn't say.

And I'm afraid of what it means to me, he definitely,

definitely_ doesn't think._

"Because I hate slow dancing," Logan says, and at least it's not a lie. "This is the most depressing song in the world. Why do they always have to play it at weddings?"

"'Unchained Melody'? It's beautiful, you dickhead."

"Whatever, dude, didn't you ever see Ghost? He fucking dies, man."

Logan feels Kendall turn into his neck, just enough for Logan to feel his smile. "But it's not about death, Logie. It's about love."

"That is like, right out of Moulin Rouge."

Kendall snorts. "You would know."

"Shut up, it's a good movie."

"Yeah, if you're a thirteen-year-old girl."

"You talk too much."

"You step on my feet too much."

Logan almost wishes they were face to face now, just to see the smile he knows Kendall is sporting, same as the smile stretched across Logan's own lips. They're silent, then, once they discover how sweet this silence is, letting Logan focus on the small, liquid movements of their bodies together, the smell of Kendall's cologne, the solid warmth of his hands, his breath. They never do this, but it's like they've done it for years. A lifetime, even. After a minute Kendall starts humming along to the song, quiet and soft in Logan's ear, only evolving to a spoken whisper of one lyric as the song reaches its climax.

"And time can do so much... are you still mine?"

Logan can practically feel his insides freeze solid while his body temperature steadily rises, and maybe it's just the alcohol, only it's not, he knows it's not, and when he pulls away enough to see Kendall's face, he can tell Kendall knows, too.

Years of unspoken words are reflected in Kendall's eyes, dark and scared, all jokes over and bets off, and Logan catches himself in the urge to just lean forward, search out and swallow all those words Kendall's never said, take away that burden Kendall's been carrying as long as he can remember, just take it and wash it away and say for once exactly what he wants to say, and he's not even entirely sure what that is, but in his head it sounds something like,

I've always been yours.

His body is a split second past making the decision, he's already learning in and it's slow motion, it's like falling, it's like he's thirteen and it's all the clichés, and when they're close enough for him to smell the chocolate icing lingering on Kendall's lips, his eyes actually flutter shut. The point of no return.

"Mind if I cut in?"

They jerk apart at Guitar Dude's voice, and it's the one tiny pebble rippling the pond, just like that the moment's over, the stillness, the sanctity. The chance. The chance they know, they know they couldn't have taken.

They waited too long.

Guitar Dude's smile is light, easy, amused, but Logan's not blind and there's a flash of darkness behind it; fear. A fear Logan recognizes all too well: the fear of loss.

"He's all yours," Logan smiles, releasing Kendall and making sure to keep his eyes from Kendall's face.

But Kendall's not as young as Logan remembers, nor so helpless, and he falls instantly into place, smiling as he drops Logan's hand. "Yeah, he keeps stepping on my feet anyway."

Guitar Dude chuckles, leading Kendall back down the hall, but before they disappear altogether, Kendall turns his head, barely a movement at all and easily missed, but Logan doesn't miss it. Kendall's eyes lock with his for the smallest instant, but it's more than enough. It says everything. It says,

I won't forget.

And for a moment, Logan wants to hate him, wants to scream back,

We have to.

But he doesn't - and they don't.

Everyone looks weirdly tall from where Logan's lying. Weirdly tall and... really a lot more naked than he's used to, even living with them for the better part of the last three years. Tall and almost-naked-but-for-underwear, with three matching expressions wavering somewhere between shocked, disbelieving, and ecstatic. And maybe a little more than half-dead.

And James's hair is really, really tremendously spastic, in a Kendall way. Logan thinks it's kind of precious, but is scared at the same time.

That's about as deep as his thoughts go at the moment, because right now his head kind of feels like he's been playing a sixteen-hour set with no earplugs.

And they're all fucking staring at him, and Logan hates when they do that. It means he's done something wrong and they're afraid to tell him.

"Um." He tries to swallow, but his throat is drier than he'd realized - than he'd ever thought was humanly possible, to be honest. "What - "

Then Carlos squeaks - _squeaks_, practically teleporting himself to Logan's side, close as if it's killing him to be anywhere else; warm and sweeping as he scoops Logan into his arms. And maybe Logan can't feel most of his muscles very well right now, and maybe it's been awhile since Carlos's hugged him like this, full and unabashed, but he's pretty sure there's something set in Carlos's body, a taut, scared sort of reservation that Logan can't recognize, can't place or pinpoint.

That's the first thing that scares him, because there hasn't been anything unrecognizable about Carlos in fifteen years.

Then there's air, salty and humid and teetering on that dusky brink between warm and cool; he can smell it on Carlos's skin, his chest, heated and soft beneath Logan's cheek, and then _James_, James's here, there, somewhere, everywhere, pressed awkwardly against Logan's back, embracing him from behind and Logan can feel the shudder that tells him James's crying.

That's the second thing that scares him: James doesn't cry.

He wants to tell him _don't cry,_ wants to say I_'m okay, I'm okay_, but something tells him the tears may not just be for him - like maybe he doesn't have the right to ask James to stop just for Logan's sake.

The salty wet air is stronger now as it's etched into the skin enveloping him on both sides, and his head is still pounding and there's so much skin, and they don't _do_this, not like this - granted they're tactile as a group, always have been (and Kendall, where's _Kendall_?) but this is different, and it's been awhile.

(Carlos emerging from the hotel shower with a towel around his waist, and Logan still trembling from the phone call, not having had the chance to get properly dressed himself, just hearing the far-off words from the other line bouncing off the walls in his head until his vision starts to go splotchy, _Sorry to inform you... passed away last night in his sleep... wasn't in any pain... _And Carlos somehow just knowing, barely having to utter the questioning "Logan...?" before Logan flings himself into Carlos, who's still wet and over-warm from water and steam, and Carlos holds him tight like he's trying to pull Logan inside him to keep him safe, and there's no one to narrow their eyes or quirk an eyebrow at them and it feels just as natural as it did when they were ten in their swim trunks and Carlos would give him piggy-back rides through the sprinklers in the backyard and then wrestle him into the mud, and his mom would show up with lemonade and watermelon slices and wide smiles and never complained about the mud stains on her towels.)

And. Yeah. It's been awhile.

It would feel right somehow, Logan thinks, if it weren't for that salty, wet air that's just getting saltier and wetter by the moment, and that really feels like nothing he remembers. Nothing that's supposed to _be_, right now. Logan gets flustered when things aren't as they're supposed to be, and he's pretty sure right now they're supposed to be on a plane, and -  
And he's equally pretty sure that they're not.

"Logie."

It comes out sounding more as a broken, choked squeak than Carlos's name, and Logan's thoughts compress into one:_water._

"Get him some water," he hears James say softly behind him, and Logan thinks _I love you, James Diamond_; would rather be able to say it, but he settles for reaching behind him and squeezing James's hand. His fingers are stiff, weak, but James squeezes back as Carlos reaches behind the blanket for a bottle.

Carlos's still supporting him on one side, James on the other; hard, unfamiliar lines set into their faces. Logan's halfway through the bottle when he chokes, sputtering and lowering the bottle from his mouth as his eyes fixate on Carlos's face, one side illumined in the moonlight.

"Litos, you're hurt - you've got - "

He reaches out involuntarily, but Carlos gently lowers his hand. "I'm okay."

"No, your face! It's - "

"I know, man. It's cool, I'm okay. It's okay."

"What the fuck happened? Why - where - "

And the questions are coming faster than he can think them now, faster than he can even formulate possible answers in his own head, and it's not until his fingers tighten anxiously on the bottle, feeling the rough, itchy granules of sand pressing into his fingers, that the rest of his senses finally kick in, letting in the sound of waves, light and steady against the shore, invisible now in the darkness but for the occasional undulation of white crests in the distance, spotlighted by the moon.

He turns back to Carlos, who's now staring at James, like he doesn't know the answer himself, but Logan's not stupid. When he turns to James, James has got the same expression, turning it right back on Carlos, but Logan at least thinks that's fair. Logan is Carlos's. Logan's always been his, since they were seven. Maybe even before. It's Carlos's job, now.  
A sharp pain shoots through Logan's head, dropping his vision momentarily to black, and in that instant, a face flashes before him, frozen and pale, and words in a nameless voice sound through his mind, _Logan... Logan... take my place, don't move._

When the moment lifts, Carlos is watching him, worried and freaked and scared and Carlos's never any of those things, and to see them in tandem written across his face is something a bit horrifying.

"Litos."

"May-maybe you should lie back down."

"_Litos._"

Carlos surrenders, embarrassment clear in his eyes at his own insulting attempt to patronize. "We. Uh." He looks down at his hand, still joined with Logan's on the scratchy blanket that's half damp from their clothes. "The plane, we. Uh."

"We crashed," Logan finishes.

Logan's never been one for bullshit or nonsense. Much better to face these things with a sense of... and so on.

It seems to affect Carlos more than Logan, his hand beginning to tremble under Logan's even while his other arm is firm around Logan's shoulders, holding him up. "Yeah. We did."

Right. Okay. Yeah.

"Into the water." It's not a question, not really.

Carlos nods. "Close to shore though. It's..." He gestures vaguely into the blackness behind them.

Okay. The water. It's better than land. It's softer. It's safer.

Logan starts a mental head count: Carlos. James. He doesn't have to look far to find Kendall, and oh god. Kendall. He looks smaller than Logan's ever seen him (might have something to do with how quiet and still he is; Kendall always seems biggest to Logan when he's on stage, jumping all over to entertain the fans), standing glued to the spot a few feet away, eyes on Logan and mouth half-open, still processing.

"Kendall."

Logan doesn't know quite what he wants the word to convey, but his free hand creeps a few inches across the blanket toward Kendall, and Kendall watches it like it's got answers. He inches forward, matching the hand's movement. He looks cautious. He looks like he has secrets. He looks like he doesn't want to say anything, and that _terrifies_Logan, because it's _Kendall_.

"Kendall, come here."

It's whisper-soft, a request, not a demand, but Kendall follows it like an order. His eyes drop steadily with the rest of him as he crouches down on his knees beside the others, tentatively reaching out and closing his fingers over Logan's splayed hand.

Suddenly Logan wants to hear this from Kendall, if only to get Kendall to speak.

"Ken."

There's a second of hesitation, that sort of time-stopping silence, when Logan remembers the head count, and he's about to start running through the rest of it in his mind when Kendall fucking _breaks_.

There's no other word for it, really; he just falls forward into Logan, knocking them both to the ground as he clings, his body convulsing in sobs too all-consuming to make any sound. Logan closes his eyes but doesn't know why; he can hear Carlos, "Ken, be careful - " and James, "He might be - "

But Logan isn't. Logan's fine, except for the fact that the plane clearly crashed on his fucking _head_, if the pounding is any indication.

"I'm okay," he assures them, still working to find his voice as he pulls Kendall closer, stroking his hair, his back, anything he can get his hands on. "Ken. Hey. Ken. I'm okay. Hey, I'm here. Baby, I'm here."

And so, okay, that's maybe the first time he's ever called Kendall baby, and clearly he's suffering from fucking brain damage now, because, _seriously, Mitchell_.

It scares him more, because if he'd slipped like that any other time, Kendall would have gawked at him with theatrically wide eyes, jaw dropped and grin wide; might've even grabbed Logan and planted one on him for the hell of it (and for other reasons, so many others). But Kendall doesn't even react, just buries himself into Logan, and it's unnerving because he's not making any noise but Logan can feel the tears spilling into his neck, a steady stream, and Kendall's trembling like he's going to explode.

Logan's eyes open then, because there are too many horrible images flying before him when they're closed. He looks at James first, and James looks like how Logan imagines Kendall would look if he were strong enough to hold it together.  
And. And it's, it's fucking _James_, and just, _what._

He looks to Carlos then, and Carlos's still got that worried-freaked-scared thing going on, and Logan is a bit terrified of letting that go any further.

"Where's Freight Train?" he asks, trying to keep his voice light, as though that could alter whatever reality might contradict his hope, because seriously, Freight Train will take care of them, and he'll _know things_, Freight Train always knows things, everything, like precisely where they are and how long it's going to take the rescue plane to get to them and where the nearest hospital will be once they land, and how funny Gustavo's freak-out voice sounded on the phone when he heard the news.  
The expression fades from Carlos's face, and it's almost a relief, until it's replaced with a complete fucking _blankness_, a kind of surrender almost, like Carlos's done trying to protect Logan from any of this.

Slowly, so slow Logan's wondering if he's starting to black out again, Carlos shakes his head to one side, then the other, and returns to frozen.

And. Okay.

Poise and rationality and.

And.

And holy - fucking - no, no, _no_.

Logan can't tell if he's started shaking himself, because Kendall's still trembling against him.

And then the questions all just pour, like if they just keep asking themselves in his head, the answers won't get a chance to get through.

He turns back to James, fighting all the thousands of words in his head (and Logan's not used to _fighting_words, it's the one thing he's never had to fight), but before he can ask, Carlos adds hastily, "It's - Logan."

And it's Carlos, and Logan knows what the words are going to be before they're out, and he doesn't want them out because then they'll be real and Logan is really fucking starting to hate reality, not just current, but as a fucking _concept, _because anything that could create this, _this_(no names, no labels, nothing that'll make it more real), just can't fucking _be_.

Carlos's voice, eyes, head, all drop. "It's. It's just us, Logan."

The words hit harder, for some reason, simply because they'd been anticipated.

His first thought is they haven't been away from home without Freight Train in over three years, and it makes his eyes prickle and his heart sink a few miles down.

His second thought is, for the last time, _head count._

"Jett. Guitar Dude."

He doesn't ask, because he isn't even sure what he's asking or if he wants the answer.

Kendall's breath hitches at Guitar Dude's name, but Logan can tell himself he imagined it.

He could almost tell himself he's imagining just about everything right now.

Almost.

But with the look on Carlos's face... maybe not.

He turns to James, like he hopes to find a different expression, a better one, but James is staring at the ground, all life, all energy having been drowned, suffocated from him, leaving his face pale, too pale; an empty hospital-white that's not at all from the moonlight.

The saddest Logan's ever seen James was at the Palm Woods, the first and only time Logan ever yelled at him, and it made Logan's chest hurt for ten whole seconds until he was sputtering breathless apologies and blinking back tears and James had _still _hugged him afterwards, dropping a whispered, "Still love you, man" into his ear and it was over just like that.

Logan has a feeling this, _this_(no names, no names), isn't going to be over any time soon, with hugs or whispers or even a nuclear meltdown.

Still fuzzy from waking, his head still feeling like Carlos had been pounding on it with drumsticks for the better part of a week, it takes him a second to connect James with Logan's words and Carlos's face and - oh.

_Oh._

"Oh god," Logan croaks, but it doesn't sound like words when it comes out, which doesn't surprise him because he's honestly more surprised he's got a voice left at all, that he's got _thoughts_ left, that his heart hasn't just pounded everything coherent right out of his head. "James. _James_."

James is reactionless, but when Logan reaches one hand away from Kendall to close around James's, James allows it, squeezing back with twice the conviction but still somehow holding back, like he's too scared to hold onto anything too tight, put too much faith in anything solid, lest it slip away from him again, just like -

And - then. _Then_.

It's then his mind finally recovers, shifts. Centers.

_Kendall._

And now he knows he's himself again, that this is real and his mind's intact, because Kendall is solidly here, infiltrating his thoughts as overwhelmingly as ever, and the chaos begins to make sense - sick, twisted sense.

His vision blacks again, for an instant, the pattern already falling into dreaded familiarity, and the same face flashes behind his eyes, variations of the same words, and he _knows_.

How they're here, how he's here, here with eyes open and heart beating instead of being one more name crossed off the head count.

He knows.

What's worse, and better all at once, something tells him he's the only one who does.

And now Kendall's -

Oh god.

Oh fucking _god._

"_Ken_."

But Carlos's there, never missing a beat, fingers tightening slightly around Logan's hand, and when Logan looks at him, Carlos shakes his head, slow but tense, unequivocal. Logan wishes it were unreadable but it's _Carlos_.

It says, _don't_.

So Logan doesn't. He fights it. He fights the words that finally, finally want to tumble out, the stupid endearments they haven't used in years (_Ken, Kenny Bear, I've got you, I've got you_), not since Logan had begun to realize they meant something to Kendall that they absolutely_could not_mean.

It didn't matter, eventually. Because, Guitar Dude. Guitar Dude could say them, and they could mean everything Kendall needed them to mean.

Except that Guitar Dude's not -

He's not _here_ - not gone, Logan won't say gone, just not _here._

(They weren't official yet, but Logan had known. Kendall had started calling Guitar Dude "Padfoot," some Harry Potter reference, god only knows, no doubt James had a hand in it, but Kendall told Guitar Dude he needed a nickname for him too. "You're Kenny Bear, aren't you?" he'd offered, pinching Kendall's leg, and before Kendall could respond, Logan had voiced a soft, but insistent, "No," from behind his magazine on the other side of the lounge. He could feel both sets of eyes on him, and tried to school his expression into something casual, light, even smiling, before he looked up. "That's mine," he'd gently informed Guitar Dude, unable to meet Kendall's eyes when he realized how close he'd been to saying _he's _instead of _that's_. Guitar Dude had smiled down at his hands, clearly knowing more than Logan thought he should. "True, I'm afraid," Kendall had chirped, faking a dramatic sigh, and Logan admired his diplomacy, because they both knew Logan allowed Carlos and James to use the name too, but this was different. They were lost to him, all the words that should've struck Logan, the fucking writer, but all he could manage was, _different._ And Kendall _knew_, and that somehow made it even harder for Logan, though he'd never let himself come to solidify what "it" precisely was.

When Logan had finally thought it safe to look, Guitar Dude had turned back to his guitar and Kendall was watching Logan with the smallest but brightest smile Logan had seen in months.)

Logan fights it, but he feels like he's already lost - having to _watch_ this, having to _feel_ this, Kendall falling apart in his arms and James's hand still clenched tightly in his and Carlos, Carlos, just trying to hold everyone together and somehow not lose himself along the way.

When Kendall's sobs trickle down to weak, sporadic convulsions, the stream of tears dwindling to an occasional drop, Carlos finally lies down on Logan's other side, and Logan realizes for the first time that Carlos hasn't broken contact with him since the moment his eyes opened, and Logan wants to acknowledge him - wants to say something, _I love you_ or even just his name, but he's afraid if he opens his mouth, the wrong words will spill out or tears will follow.

He settles for turning his head until his forehead brushes Carlos's, and he leaves it there until Carlos kisses his cheek, aiming blindly and landing somewhere by his ear, his breath a hot, solid comfort despite its intrinsic lack of solidity.

When he turns back to Kendall, James is curled up on Kendall's other side, spooning him, head nestled in the warm, perfect curve of Kendall's neck, his arm curled around Kendall's waist, their fingers laced tight. Logan cups one hand over their joined fingers and Carlos nestles against his other side, and Logan is momentarily _shut down_by how completely right this feels (how _anything_ could feel this right, now), the four of them holding each other up, holding each other _down_, just fucking _holding_. None of them alone is the glue that keeps them together, but rather each an integral ingredient in the glue: individually, they're just entities, useless; together, they're solid. Adhered.  
Together, they're fucking magic.

Logan holds his breath until his ears identify three separate breathing patterns, before letting his eyes fall shut.  
It's not until they close that a splash of tears trails a jagged path down his cheek, landing in Kendall's hair.  
He doesn't remember falling asleep, but he dreams of three months ago, Guitar Dude's birthday, when Kendall asked with no explanation if they could cover Elton John's "Your Song" the following Thursday, and then proceeded to dedicate it, in front of an audience five thousand strong, to "someone special". Guitar Dude had had no idea, just stood sidestage, lowering his phone when the song had started, his mouth dropping half open and his eyes glistening visibly even from the stage, glued to Kendall with his guitar the entire time, his camera phone, limp in his hands.

Logan never even remembered singing, can't recall formulating words at all. He vaguely remembers the speed of his heartbeat, the stiffness in his fingers, and a mischievous grin from Carlos (Logan had maybe possibly serenaded him with that song once when he was sixteen and drunk for the first time - a grand, uncharacteristically theatrical performance that had concluded with him straddling Carlos on the couch and using the TV remote as a mic. They'd laughed so hard afterwards Logan had collapsed in his lap, nuzzling against Carlos's hip until sleep claimed him, and Logan never thought to ask why Carlos allowed it.)

But what he remembers most is the look in Guitar Dude's eyes (the same look Kendall had set on Logan for years, forever), the way Kendall kept sneaking looks and secret smiles in Guitar Dude's direction, and the way he sang it with a kind of gorgeous abandon Logan hadn't seen in some time. Kendall met Logan's eyes once, but he looked terrified when it happened, like he was going to lose his place or forget the words, and he looked away just as fast.

That. That was the reality.

The dream is better, and worse.

In his dream, Kendall walks across the stage at the end to where Logan has safely planted himself, far away. Their instruments have somehow vanished, as have the audience, Guitar Dude, even the stage. There are smiles - James's, Carlos's, warm and blinding and beautiful - but what he sees most clearly is Kendall, walking toward him and never stopping until their mouths are locked, with Kendall's hands fisted in Logan's hair and Logan's hands on Kendall's hips like they've been there forever, like they were born to fit against the curves. But the instant their tongues touch, they're ripped apart, being pulled further and further away until all Logan can see is darkness, all he can feel are hands, and all he can hear is the roar of the airplane as it drops, and the voice, the same voice, beckoning him into safety.

He wakes up in darkness, blanketed by his sleeping bandmates, the sounds of insects and ocean soft in his ears and nothing like the roar of the plane, their songs offering a comfort he's not ready to accept.

There are tears on his face and for a tiny, glorious instant, he can't remember why.

When Carlos wakes up, he knows immediately where he is - and it's the first chance has to be truly afraid.

With the heaviest weights of their chaos lifted, he can finally settle, breathe, think, and he's starting to miss being too shellshocked to do any of those things, because they'd kept him moving, kept him working. Kept him hoping. Kept him thinking if he just went on moving and working, he wasn't giving in, he wasn't surrendering to the reality.

But just... stopping like this - sleeping and waking up and knowing where he is and just _taking_ it - it makes him sick. Irrationally, it makes him feel like he's given up; like he's failed.

But the rest of his senses kick in soon enough, the still-sleeping warmth radiating off Logan's skin beneath Carlos's arm, his closeness, his _alive_ness - and he knows: As long as he has this, Logan, all of them - he hasn't failed.

Maybe even, as long as he's got all of them - he _can't_ fail.

He spends a good thirty seconds working carefully to disentangle himself from Logan without waking him up, and he's practically breathless by the time he accomplishes it, pushing himself up on the blanket and wincing at the stiffness that doesn't seem to have missed a single muscle in his body. He can see Logan properly now, still fitted snug against Kendall, their legs draped over one another and their arms folded up against their chests, hands joined, with Kendall's head tucked under Logan's chin. It's strange seeing them like this, in a million ways. Logan's never been one for cuddling with Kendall (alone with Carlos or James is another story, one that Carlos knows better than to question), and the only thing separating their bodies is their underwear, Logan's charcoal gray boxer briefs and Kendall's fire engine-red American Apparels. The part of Carlos that still remembers who he was two days ago wishes everything were different so he could take a picture of them, leave it for Logan to find, watch him go crimson and bitchy and mortified so Carlos could laugh at him, and James would pretend not to take sides, but Carlos would catch him grinning when Logan looks away.

He almost feels guilty watching them, like he's intruding on something intimate, not meant for him to see.

He doesn't watch long, once his eyes catch sight of James, seated on a corner of the blanket with his back slouched against the base of the nearest palm tree. His eyes are unfocused, just pointed out into the ocean, not watching anything in particular as he traces aimless patterns in the sand with one finger.

When Carlos crosses over to him, crouches down and sits back on his heels, James looks up, a brief acknowledgment before averting his eyes to the ground, watching his fingers sift through the same sand over and over, like he's ever going to uncover something new.

"What time is it?" Carlos whispers.

James shrugs. "I dunno, afternoon I think."

"Shit."

"You sleep okay?"

"Yeah, you?"

James nods.

"You been up long?" Carlos asks.

"An hour, I guess. I was gonna go out, but. Y'know. Didn't want you to worry." He says it a little awkwardly, like he thinks it presumptuous to assume Carlos would worry about him, and it still amazes Carlos, how after all this time, James still has those rare moments when he doubts how much he is loved - and seriously, there couldn't be anything more fucking ridiculous.

"You should've woken me up." It sounds harsher than Carlos intended, but shit, they've lost half the day.

James shrugs again. "You looked so peaceful... all of you. Perfect." His voice drops, and, "I didn't want - I just. Wanted it to stay. I don't know."

But Carlos knows. James's mind works through images, photographs, moments that he can freeze and hold onto, or at least try. Looking back over at Kendall and Logan now... he gets it. Right now they _are_ perfect. It's the only perfection in any of this, the only thing that isn't chaos.

"It's okay." Carlos reaches down, closes his fingers around James's in the sand, feeling the grains shift and grind between their skin. "You want to go look for water?"

James nods. "'M gonna make one more trip out first. I think I saw another suitcase yesterday."

"Okay."

James picks up one of the snack bags lying on the ground, ripping it open with his teeth and scarfing down two tightly packed miniature doughnuts before offering the last four to Carlos.

"Eat," James orders before Carlos can decline.

Carlos does, slowly and silently, trying not to think of how many snacks they've got left, or of the time he and Stephanie went to the beach and he'd tried to climb a palm tree to fetch a coconut and only succeeded in scraping up his entire front half so bad he'd looked kind of like a burn victim for days.

Even without looking directly into James's eyes (he would, if James would let him, he _would_), Carlos can tell there's something missing. The life, the vibrance and shine that he'd assumed was just part of the James Diamond magic, an intrinsic constant - has seeped out, replaced by nothing, diminishing the once sparkling hazel to dull, lifeless brown.  
Carlos wants to say a thousand words, if only he could figure out what they are.

He wants to say, maybe, _I'm here_, but he knows that's not enough. James doesn't care that he's there. Carlos is just Carlos. He's not snarky smirks and overcompensation, gelled blond hair on top of a perfect face, saying things only James would understand. He's not enough. He's not _Jett_.

Carlos wonders dangerously if James would disappear inside himself this way if Carlos had been the one who'd gone.  
A thousand words, and none of them right. None of them enough.

He wants to say, _Let me take care of you_, the way James has been taking care of him, all of them, since they moved to California to follow his dream, his way of saying thank you. Probably even before, after a night of over-indulgence in high school, when he'd show up at Carlos's house carrying Kendall, a pack of Sour Patch Kids, and a box of Raisinets, Carlos and Logan's favorites respectively, because somehow James knew.

Somehow, James always knows.

Carlos gives up on words, they're Logan's territory after all, and settles for a soft, "James," a hand on his knee.

It's the wrong word, apparently, because James is easing himself to his feet, heading out to the water without any indication for Carlos to follow him.

Carlos does though, splashing more than necessary to make sure James knows he's there, to give James a chance to send him away if he doesn't want him there.

James doesn't send him away, but he doesn't acknowledge him either, and Carlos thinks that kind of feels worse.

He's seen the wreckage a dozen times, more probably; it's easier now, and Carlos hates that. It shouldn't be. It shouldn't be easier to know exactly where the bodies are and how to avoid them. He doesn't want to know what sections he has to be careful of because parts of the plane are jutting out like blades. He doesn't want to feel the broken seats under pools of idle water, knowing who took their last breaths where.

It all looks just as he remembers, and he doesn't fucking _want_ to remember this.

He watches as James works like it's nothing, stumbling over piles of unnamed items, useless bits of plane, pushing his way through all the hanging yellow oxygen masks that had dropped uselessly during the fall.

"There was some stuff floating over by the right side emergency exit - or what's left of it," James says without turning around, and Carlos takes it as instruction. At least it gives him something to do, makes him useful. Valuable, maybe.  
What's left of the emergency exit is a shapeless hole in the side of what's left of the plane - really, everything here is defined in terms of _what's left of,_ because nothing is whole anymore.

Metaphors start converging in Carlos's head, and he's definitely spent too many years with Logan.

He spends awhile half underwater, trying to reach (what's left of) the floor of the plane, all the things he can feel with his feet but is afraid to step on, lest he break anything waterproof and valuable. A small slip and something starts to crunch under his foot before he catches himself, but it's not quick enough to keep the sharp edge of the object from jabbing his heel.

"Shit, _fuck_, what the fuck."

He stumbles backward a bit but James is abandoning a newly retrieved (albeit badly beaten) suitcase and racing to his side, as fast as possible through the uneven water and stray items.

"You okay?" James asks, suddenly alert. "What happened?"

"Just stepped on something sharp. I'm good, it's not bleeding or anything."

But James is already reaching down, the water level at the very top of his shoulder as he fumbles around for the culprit, and Carlos winces a bit at the sharp cut that reaches from James's shoulder down his chest, and the way it's forced to stretch as he reaches. His arm stills suddenly and something flashes across his face, and when he begins to pull out of the water, it's slow, dreading, as though he doesn't want to see what's in his hand.

It's waterlogged, useless with a cracked screen and bits broken off, scratched to hell and back - but it's unmistakable.

James stares at Jett's phone like a death sentence, his jaw slack and eyes brimming with a shine that has nothing to do with vibrance or magic.

"Fuck," Carlos hisses, but James is a statue, still as stone and just as wordless.

In the silence but for the water lapping gently at their legs, Carlos can hear James's breath start to quicken, shorten, and he doesn't fucking know what to do anymore because James's shut himself off so hard.

"James... James, _please_."

He doesn't even know what he's pleading for until he steps forward, carefully circling his arms around James, pulling himself toward James instead of trying to pull James to him - and then, he knows. He knows what he's been after all along, when James finally breaks in his arms, choked sobs rattling his frame as he lets Carlos hold him up, hold him impossibly close, and finally, _finally_, he responds in kind, his arms clinging so tight that Carlos doesn't know how he's managing to breathe, but as long as James's in his arms, letting him do this, oxygen can fucking wait.

He knows well enough to keep quiet until James's breaths are steady again, but James never lets go.

"Hey," Carlos whispers into his hair, "do you want to bring it back? To camp? We'll keep it safe, and we'll take it home with us, yeah?"

For a second James simply freezes, and Carlos is terrified he's said completely the wrong thing, again - but James finally nods, quick and jerky against Carlos's shoulder.

"Okay," Carlos breathes, and the relief in the syllable is clear, but he knows he's speaking now mostly for himself. "Okay."

"Litos."

"Yeah."

James holds his breath like he's going to say something, but he doesn't. He lets it out after a few seconds, and holds onto Carlos a little tighter.

"Don't go anywhere," James says against his skin.

"I'm not, man. "

"I can't do this without you."

"You don't - "

"I _can't,_ Litos."

"Look at me."

Carlos is a little nervous, knowing it's all thin ice right now, trying to give James orders, but James obliges, gazing up at him, scared and jittery.

"You won't have to," Carlos says. "I'm _here_."

James stares at him a long time, almost like he's waiting for the life to drift back into his eyes, as if for some reason _Carlos _would be the one to bring it back. And just like that, two years have dropped off, and Carlos is zooming back to _then_, that one second when he knew, knew that if he had to live a single day the rest of his life without James Diamond in it, the world would shine a little less.

_"One more time?"_

"Yeah."

"Okay." Carlos adjusts his position on the dressing room floor, trying to keep his knees out of the way as he scoots closer to James, one finger pointed to the setlist in front of them. They had quickly gotten used to their positions without James in the group, when he had decided to become a solo artist. Carlos indicates two places on the crappy pencil drawing of the stage where Kendall has written the letter "J" surrounded by hearts.

He stops only from the feeling of being watched, and it's not an irrational assumption, when he looks up to find James looking at him, not the paper, with bright, beaming eyes and a smile to match.

"What?"

James shrugs, still smiling. "I couldn't do this without you."

Carlos smiles back. "You won't have to."  
James glances down at the page, pretending to study the list of tracks. "I hear you're the one who convinced them you weren't Big Time Rush without me."

"Dude, we all wanted you back."

James looks up again, and something in Carlos's stomach does a little flip-flop to find that James's smile is intact, brighter than ever. "But you were the mastermind behind it."

Carlos shrugs as casually as he can physically manage, hoping it negates the blush he feels rising in his cheeks. "Maybe."

"Why - I just. I mean, we're in L.A., even Gustavo could've done it. Or y'know, anyone else who tried out and didn't abandon his friends. Why me?"

Carlos rolls his eyes, because, seriously. "Because you're James Diamond," he states, as if this explains everything.

But really, it kind of does.

It didn't take him long after to realize he would've paid any price in the world to make James come back.

What he never realized was, James had never left.

"We can do this," Carlos insists, shivering as a few drops of water spill from his hair down his face. "We can, I promise."

James nods, and it's probably Carlos's imagination, but James's eyes don't look quite as empty.

"Come on, let's get out of here," Carlos urges, tugging on James's wrist.

It's not the easiest task in the world, lugging the suitcase and the rest of their collection through the maze of wreckage and back through the water, but it's good; it gives them something to do, and they don't have to speak through it, no more fears of wrong words or tense silence.

Once they hit the beach, the items are dropped, arranged, jammed firmly into the sand lest they roll or blow away, and Carlos is even poised to zip open the suitcase when it hits, his eyes moving slowly toward their camp, toward the makeshift roof (which, secretly, Carlos is really quite proud of), toward the mess of blankets that's become their bed, the massive shade leaves and bottles of water and plastic snack packs, toward -

"...James."

Toward Kendall and Logan, who aren't there at all.


	4. Chapter 4

_Logan finds him ten minutes in, when he's just starting to take full breaths, to remember how his lungs work. The black water laps quietly at Kendall's bare hips where the rest of his body disappears into the dark - too quietly, he thinks. Kendall doesn't trust silence very well, which is why he always does his best to fill it. The jagged fringe of his hair sticks to his face in wide strips, salty drops collecting where the the strands narrow into points, before disconnecting and falling to his nose; his lips; back to the ocean where they belong. His fists are clenched tight at his sides, knuckles white from the strain and whiter from the slight cool of the water - but it's not cold enough to make him shiver._

_The shiver comes from somewhere else._

_"Ken?"_

_And just like that he's safe again, eager to open his eyes (and anything else) and accept the company, because nothing can harm him if he's not alone._

_It's childish and irrational, but then... Kendall is scarcely past childhood himself, and Logan isn't the only one who scoffs at rationality through jaded jibes and over-stressed sarcasm._

_"Hi." Kendall smiles, small and meek, which is far enough from his default that Logan's forehead immediately crinkles._

_"The fuck are you doing out here all alone?" Logan inquires, but his tone is light and the corners of his lips are curled up._

_Kendall hesitates before he speaks, another dramatic stray from his default, and glances back the sixty or so feet to shore, where half-naked Jo is attempting to dunk half-naked Lucy and failing _miserably_, while the guys all watch, mouths scandalously hanging open like it's cable porn (all except James and Carlos, who are too busy poking at a crab and leaping back like six-year-old girls when it lunges at them intermittently)._

_Kendall chuckles to himself, thinking how much easier life would be if that sight could cause such a reaction in _him_._

_He looks at Logan, who seems to have gotten a lot closer in the past five seconds, and the proximity does nothing to keep Kendall from remembering the only things separating them are a few inches of air, Logan's underwear, and whatever horrors live in the water below Kendall's hips._

_"I'm uh." He tries to unclench his hands, but they won't move. "I'm... conquering my fear."_

_"...Of naked women?"_

_"Shut up!" - Logan grins - "of sharks, asshole."_

_Logan softens at once, and Kendall doesn't fail to notice that's not exactly _his_ default, either. "You're afraid of sharks?"_

_"Uh... kind of? Maybe? A little? Um, a lot? Since my friend let me watch Jaws when I was six and told me it was about a boy with a pet shark?"_

_"Oh."_

_"Yeeeah... I'm a loser," Kendall chuckles nervously, staring down at the blackness pooled around his skin._

_"No you're not, you're just - Jesus, Kendall, you're shaking."_

_He reaches forward and Kendall holds his breath for the contact, but Logan's fingers never quite touch him, and Kendall's suspects it's because he wants it too desperately. Like he's psyched it out of happening._

_"I'm okay," Kendall whispers even though it's obvious he's not, closing his eyes again and tipping his head down, because Logan's face, whatever it is, will either be irresistible or heartbreaking if he looks up, and with his phobias swelling up again just now, he's not sure he can handle either._

_"Ken. Hey. It's okay, man. There's no sharks here."_

_"Yeah. I know. No, it's cool, yeah. I know. I just."_

_"Look at me."_

_Kendall does, because it's Logan, and he'd give Logan his last breath if he asked._

_"Hey." Logan smiles, all gentle eyes, lips plump and dark from the water. "You're okay. C'mere."_

_He reaches forward, and this time he touches, both hands (and oh god, oh _god_), closing fingers over Kendall's tight fists, carefully easing them open until he can lace their hands together, and it takes a moment while their fingers tangle awkwardly, stiff and chilled from the water, but Kendall has no complaints because the way they're touching, opening and readjusting and drawing closer, it feels so fucking _good_, reminds him of how he imagines their bodies would do the same, and suddenly he's not thinking about sharks anymore._

_He can't tell if that's a win or a fail._

_"If you want to..." Logan starts._

_And Kendall's lost, utterly, because he wants so _much_and has no idea what he's allowed to take._

_Logan steps a bit closer, causing the water between them to ripple and dip, and a latent awareness strikes Kendall not a moment too soon._

_"Uh, I - " he stammers, eyes still squeezed shut as Logan presses their foreheads together. "I'm, uh, like, all kinds of naked right now."_

_He knows Logan's smiling, because he hasn't set any snark on him yet. "It's okay." They're close enough that he can actually _hear_ Logan swallow, before he whispers, "Hold on as tight as you want."_

_Kendall hesitates as anyone would, because even though Logan tries to fight everyone's preconceived notion that he's apt to shatter at the drop of a hat, Kendall's still afraid of breaking him. But more than that, he thinks, he's afraid of pushing his limits with Logan. He's afraid of letting_himself_break. It's not until Logan gives his hands an extra squeeze, urging him on, that he relents, gripping as hard as he can, as hard as it takes for him to forget, but he's not sure what he's trying to forget anymore._

_He tells himself,_stop thinking_._

_His mind listens, but his body doesn't._

_And, oh. Okay. Fuck._

_"You still scared?" Logan whispers._

_Kendall nods, but it feels like a lie, because nothing's about sharks now._

_Logan brushes a thumb over the back of Kendall's hand, humming softly, the whispered melody falling right from his lips to Kendall's, like a secret: "And maybe they won't find out what I know... you were the last good thing about this part of town."_

_He smiles, and Logan chuckles, breathy and nervous like he can feel it._

_"I think I felt a jellyfish," he says._

_Kendall laughs, a strangled, short-lived choking sound that really isn't funny at all._

_"You okay?"_

_He doesn't answer, because Logan is about three inches away from finding out just how much more than _okay_this is for Kendall._

_"Ken, are you - "_

_And as the words come, it's like sick slow motion and fast-forward all together as Logan adjusts his footing on the ocean floor, causing his feet to shift and his hips to drop forward a bit and it's over, and Kendall's amazed at how little it takes to kill three inches._

_It's almost nonexistent, the brief flash of friction, the brush of skin against cotton, but for the second it's there, it's enough for a sharp gasp to slip through and slice the air between them, and it's a long moment before Kendall realizes it didn't come from him._

_They jump back a bit, fingers unclenching to release their hands at once, and in his surprise, Kendall's eyes spring open, an immediately regrettable impulse as they meet Logan's. Logan's are darker than the water but brighter than spotlights, guarded behind dark eyelashes and a hooded expression._

_It's not by any means the first embarrassing moment he's experienced in Logan's presence; sharing a tour bus or Carlos's pull-out sofa doesn't exactly provide the most luxurious levels of privacy - but this. This is_different_._

_This is the first time Logan's acknowledged it._

_Maybe a bit more than acknowledged, if they're being honest._

_Their eyes are still holding tight to each other, and Kendall thinks it could be easy, so easy... just one step forward, and..._

_Logan swallows again, and Kendall completely ignores the lines of Logan's throat, the quick bob of his Adam's apple, and the way he just won't fucking look away like should._

_"Um," Logan swallows again. "We should, uh. 'S getting late."_

_Kendall tries to nod, tries to laugh it off, tries to say yeah, let's go, but all that happens is he blinks, once, and his muscles refuse to move._

_Unsurprising, considering how uncooperative his body has been so far._

_"Right?" Logan prods, and Kendall can see the pleading in his eyes, the dark hunger (Hunger? When had Kendall's mind decided it was_hunger_?) shoved aside and replaced with desperation, begging Kendall to comply._

_"Yeah," he finally offers, feeling every missed chance slip through his fingers as the words leave his mouth: a cheap, cowardly surrender. "Yeah, I'll be along in a sec."_

_Logan watches him a moment longer, and it's Kendall's turn to plead with his eyes, begging Logan to let it go, to not make this any more difficult than it already has to be._

_It's awhile before Logan says anything, just keeps staring, and with each second Kendall's false hope starts building, compounding, exploding, thinking maybe Logan's hesitation means what he's dying for it to mean._

_"Okay," Logan says at last, little beyond a soft sigh._

_Kendall's mind is so far gone on overdrive that he doesn't process it until it's too late, the two words Logan adds as he's walking away, so quiet they could easily be written off as part of the sloshing water when he moves:_

_"I'm sorry."_

Kendall's mind drifts into consciousness before his eyes are open, and that's unusual for him. Usually he's gazing foggily at the world around him, ready to face and embrace it before his mind even realizes he's awake.

But this, this is kind of nice, he thinks before he's really _thinking_; it's nice being sense-aware like this without even seeing. Guitar Dude's warm beneath the half of Kendall that's draped over him; he's breathing even and slow and one of his hands is curled around Kendall's hip like always, familiar and predictable and _safe_: everything Kendall's come to love about Guitar Dude.

"Love you, puppy," he mumbles into the sleep-warm skin beneath his lips, shifting closer.

It's not instantaneous, but rather a few seconds' worth of progression, the way the heartbeat beneath his hand quickens, the breath shortness, and the entire body under his touch goes stiff.

It's then he notices the frame beneath him is too firm, too narrow to fit his presumptions; the skin softer; the fingers at his hip a bit shorter and chubbier - and the scent, even beneath layers of ocean air and sand smells that have seeped in, triggers a recognition in Kendall even more familiar, more comforting, but worlds away from Guitar Dude, and the shock shakes the last sleepy haze off Kendall's mind as his eyes spring open.

Logan's eyes seem bigger than ever this close, but maybe it's just been awhile, and it's not as though many opportunities have presented themselves since.

"Sorry," Kendall says at once, automatic before his mind has fully caught up. "Sorry, I'm sorry," he repeats as he climbs off Logan, seating himself a few feet away, legs folded and eyes fixed to the ground. "I thought you were - I'm sorry."

And the unspoken name rings louder through his ears for not having been vocalized, his eyes threatening with a light prickle, but he shoves it back, refuses to let it go any farther. Not here, not with Logan, not when Logan will feel obligated to touch him when Kendall knows Logan's not comfortable with affection like that.

Not with him, at least.

He looks back at Logan bravely, hoping to catch a reaction, but Logan's merely leaning back on his elbows, staring with a firm crease in his forehead, his face nothing close to upset.

Kendall can't read it, because he's not Carlos. He hates that, now more than ever. It's little things like this, recently - last forty-eight hours recently - that have sparked inexplicable anger in him: Kendall's always assumed, maybe a bit blindly, that the reason he can't read Logan's face, especially when he most wants to, is because he's _not Carlos_.

It's never occurred to him that Logan might have control over who can read him.

Kendall turns away before he can get any angrier, because Logan sprawled out like that, bare-chested with wildly tousled hair and wearing nothing but his underwear is a really, really nice sight, and Kendall may not have the world's most refined sense of decorum, but he knows letting those kinds of thoughts swarm through his mind at a time like this is probably achieving a level of inappropriate that even he'd never before reached.

But there's a hand on his knee, and when he turns his head, Logan has pulled himself up to sit beside him, still watching him with gentle eyes, and Kendall can't detect any sense of awkward obligation in his touch.

"I'm sorry," Logan says, his voice an unfamiliar echo of the deep, defined tone Kendall knows.

Kendall doesn't understand, and doesn't want games, doesn't want Logan's cryptic word mazes that only Carlos and Camille can ever seem to follow: Carlos because it's _Carlos _and they've known each other since birth, and Camille because Camille works the same way, using hidden depths to language to say things she doesn't want to say directly, or because saying it with more wit will earn him more attention. Kendall's never been one to see much past words at face value; never been one to pick apart Logan's elaborate dreamscape metaphors or Camille's mismatched, reinvented cliches. Over the years (the years since Logan), he's learned to hide words that want to escape, the I-love-you's and I-should-tell-you's, but when the words do come, allowed or otherwise, they're direct enough that no one has to interpret.

He watches Logan fruitlessly now, reading nothing but what looks like guilt, and now he's _sure_ he's reading it wrong, because what on earth does Logan have to feel guilty for?

"For what?" Kendall asks.

Logan's expression slips, just a bit, intensifies, like he's trying to evaluate Kendall's emotional state. Kendall's not used to it; Logan's usually too caught up in trying to evaluate his _own_ emotional state - which really sounds more self-absorbed than it is; the pain that goes along with it, Kendall knows, tends to hit Logan harder than others. Kendall may be able to hide, but he's never doubted who he is, what he wants.

Logan swallows, still watching him. "I'm sorry you - that - it's. It's so." _Wrong, unfair, fucked up to hell and back_. "If I could trade places with you, I would."

The good thing about Logan is, he may not say a lot, but he never says anything he doesn't mean.

Kendall wants to say _thank you_, but words don't seem to fit here.

They're silent for a long time, until Kendall feels the hand on his knee disappear, and he glances up to see Logan pressing his thumbs hard against his temples, eyes squeezed brutally tight.

"Does it hurt?"

Logan nods.

"Do you... want me to..."

He doesn't expect Logan to nod so readily, so easily; Kendall's got this kind of magic headache-vanishing massage-thing he learned from some roadie from some band he can't remember, years ago, and has been using it on his band since then, much to their gratitude. Logan's always the last to accept, if he accepts at all. Kendall knows it's not because it doesn't work on him, but because Logan doesn't like Kendall to touch him.

It's taken a good number of years, but Kendall's come to accept it, to let the easy touches and hugs and cheek-kisses from James, Carlos, Jett, everyone, convince him that he doesn't have some kind of disease, that he's not fundamentally _untouchable_. That it's not _him_; it's just, it's Logan. Even Logan's tried to convince him, not so much in words but in pleading looks that Kendall's tried to ignore, because he grew quickly tired of Logan not just _saying_ things to him, but trying to make him figure things out on his own.

Maybe it's different here, because there's no one around to see. No one who will think Logan is something he isn't, for accepting contact that supposedly means more to Kendall than it does to him.

Supposedly.

Kendall shifts so he's in front of him, placing his hands on either side of Logan's head and easing into the patterns, finding the pressure points and trying to remember all the extra sweet spots exclusive to Logan that he'd memorized from the few times Logan had let him do this.

"I'm worried about you," Kendall says softly. "Your cut's not that bad, but you could've damaged something inside, and how the hell would we know?"

"'S just a headache," Logan slurs, still sleepy and softening further from the touch, allowing his head to relax in Kendall's hands, his eyelids fluttering as they unclench. "Need coffee."

"Well, y'know, I think I saw a Starbucks through the trees, we can head over there if you want."

Logan's quiet for several moments, and Kendall is beginning to suspect he's falling back sleep, when he whispers, "I love you, Kendall."

Kendall's only human, and it's _Logan_, and the rhythm of his hands miss a beat but it's not like he can hide it. He only wishes it weren't so fucking hard to say it back - not because he doesn't mean it, but because he _does_.

"I love you too." He trips a little over the words, but it's not noticeable enough to acknowledge. "If you ever scare us like that again, I." His voice starts to shake, and just, _no_, he can't do this right now. "Just _don't_, okay?"

They both know _us_ means _me_, but Logan nods all the same.

"Here." Kendall lowers his hands, grabbing for a water bottle and dumping it in Logan's lap before reaching across the sand to one pile of snacks. He selects a bag of trail mix, the healthiest thing he can find, and works on tearing it open. "I think James and Litos are at the plane," he adds, handing Logan the bag.

Logan stares at it, and back to Kendall. That, _that_, Kendall can read.

"We have plenty," he lies, reaching for a bag of pretzels for himself. "Eat."

Logan eats, slowly, the way he always eats, like he's evaluating the food's value to his physical being; and Kendall forces the pretzels into his mouth, because as far past hungry as he is, his appetite is still on hiatus. He eats slowly too, the way he _never_ does, because as long as they're eating they don't have to talk, don't have to fill any awkward silence.

Logan watches him through it, though, looking away when Kendall catches his eye, and the lack of stealth is so unlike Logan that Kendall really does start to worry about head injuries. He worries more, though, about the way Logan's watching him, like he's waiting for the ball to drop; for Kendall to suddenly realize something and freak out, and it doesn't make any sense.

Kendall's done his freaking out. Maybe Logan wasn't around to see it, wasn't there to hear Kendall screaming at James and pushing Carlos off or clawing at sand for hours on end, crying until his body nearly dried up. But he must know, from how quiet Kendall is now, that the worst is over.

Without thinking, Kendall chomps down on a pretzel and accidentally bites the inside of his cheek, and remembers last week when he bit his tongue and whimpered and Guitar Dude took his hand, raised an eyebrow, and offered to kiss it better.

...But no.

No, he's not freaking out. His eyes can sting all they want and his breath can catch until it breaks, but he's not freaking out.

He looks up. "Do you want to go for a walk?"

Logan nods slowly.

"We need to find water."

Another nod.

Kendall stands, brushing sand and crumbs off his lap before offering his hand to Logan, who accepts it, but Kendall over-aims a bit as he hoists Logan up, always underestimating Logan's lack of body mass, and Logan stumbles forward a step and they're face to face, again, too close and Logan's _still_ fucking watching him.

Kendall wants to say _What, WHAT_, but he doesn't think he has the energy for an answer.

"You shouldn't - " Logan starts on his own, looking exasperated. "You shouldn't be - I - I should be taking care of _you_, you're the one who - "

And there's just no way, none, that that sentence could be finished.

Kendall wishes there were a safe way to tell Logan that taking care of him comes as easily to Kendall as breathing. Instead, he gives the hand still clasped in his a gentle squeeze before releasing it, turning and starting for the forest behind camp.

He's not too keen on retracing yesterday's path: too many blurred, chaotic memories, none good and several bad, and besides, Carlos has already started beating down some of the plants to make a path, where he'd been collecting leaves and vines. And, Kendall suspects with a slight sinking in his stomach, where Carlos and James had probably taken off looking for him, for god only knows how long.

There's too much to see, to watch for, to wade through, for them to speak, and Kendall's grateful, because perhaps for the first time in his life, he doesn't think he could string together enough words to make logical sentences, or even his more traditional illogical sentences. It's taking all his mental energy to keep his thoughts off Guitar Dude, off Freight Train and Jett and reality and how much it's everything reality shouldn't be, ever. Logan's silence is nothing uncharacteristic, but somehow, it seems _more_ silent - like it's not that he doesn't have anything to say, but rather that he can't say it.

For twenty minutes the silence remains easy, and Logan follows, keeping up well and not once complaining about the floppy, low-hanging branches and eccentric plants in their way, the uneven ground, or the steadily uphill trek - and it's yet another warning to Kendall that the Logan who woke up last night may not quite be the Logan who sat on the plane merely two days ago.

This bit of the forest looks much like all the other bit, and Kendall's just starting to wonder how many identical miles of forest they might have to breach, when Logan's hand reaches from behind and clamps down over Kendall's wrist.

Kendall's half a breath away from a _What, what, are you okay_, but an unfamiliar impulse silences him, letting him simply study Logan's face, and as he does, he _reads_. He reads, just like Carlos does.

Logan's eyes say, _Listen._

Kendall goes so far as to hold his breath, focusing on Logan's eyes instead of the distractions around him, desperate to learn if there's anything else he should be reading, but he's jolted from his focus when something collides with his ears, something new that isn't the sound of their own footsteps, crunching unknown surfaces beneath them. Something that isn't insects or birds, something that isn't life, but somehow, greater.

It's nothing he's used to hearing, and at first it sounds like traffic, the far-off rush of a single car along a highway, but this sound doesn't crescendo and fade; it's steady, neither approaching nor departing, and -

_Oh_.

Logan releases his hand and steps forward, beginning to lead the way, and Kendall's more than a little wary of letting him go first, worried he won't be able to protect him, but Logan seems set on it. The sound grows louder but never deafening, and Kendall is somehow expecting it to be both more and so, so much less than it is.

It's a fucking _waterfall_.

Like, a real one, the kind in pictures, and movies, a waterfall in the middle of the forest, _their_ forest, right fucking _here_, twenty feet high and spilling lazily into a shallow pool about fifty feet across, blue as can be and trickling off into a stream on one side that drizzles southwest of where they came. They watch it, dumbfounded, from a mossy plateau some thirty feet up from the bank, overlooking a rocky patch at one edge of the pond.

Words strike Kendall, but again, become jumbled in the mess of his head and never quite make it out.

Logan doesn't turn around, just keeps staring out over it, but Kendall is at once prodding around to find a way down to the pond. At one edge close to the forest he locates a drop that looks safe enough to tackle, not too steep or slippery. He looks back to ensure Logan's following him, a quick glance he's only half-focused on, until -

"_Logan_ - what the - Jesus fuck, Logan! - "

He's a scant fifteen feet from where Logan's standing, but it feels like he's in a dream, moving in slow motion and unable to control it or speed it up, the way he clambers back up the plateau to where Logan is perched at the edge, the tips of his shoes just hanging off the cliff, his arms limp and loose at his sides. Kendall grabs one, jerks Logan around and doesn't think twice about the spark of fury that he knows must show in his eyes with the panicked, heaving breaths shuddering through his lungs.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?!"

It's hardly the first time he's raised his voice to Logan, but possibly the first time Logan hadn't raised his first.

It's no longer the scene that terrifies Kendall, the image pounding against his eyes of seeing Logan standing there, so close, so fucking _close_ - but rather, the fact that Logan isn't fighting him, isn't jerking away with a _fuck off_, isn't shooting daggers with his eyes. In fact, the only life Kendall can detect in his eyes right now is a glimmer of tears. The rest of Logan's face is calm, relaxed, eerily so.

"The _fuck_?" Kendall repeats, but it's weak this time, choked and scared-sounding and followed by an all too familiar sting in his eyes. He adjusts his grip on Logan's arm so it's not deathly tight, carefully pulling him back until a solid ten feet of ground is between them and the edge. Logan follows like a puppet, a well-trained dog, not protesting one inch.

Logan is watching him still, not angry, merely blank, and Kendall isn't surprised that he can't read a thing.

"What the fuck was that?" he whispers, voice weaker than ever from pounding in his heart, exhausting him. "You almost - Logan, _please_."

"Nothing," Logan says, quiet and unaffected, like it really is nothing. "It's nothing. I was just looking. I'm sorry."

Kendall focuses as hard as he can, wills his eyes to speak, _I don't believe you_ and _talk to me, please_. He holds his breath and waits, waits for Logan's eyes to say something back, but they don't.

"Come on," Logan says, gently peeling Kendall's fingers from his wrist. "Let's go down."

Kendall lets him lead the way, if for no other reason than so he can keep an eye on him. It's an easy trek down, and Logan's on his knees at the shore before Kendall can even blink, scooping up a handful of water and lifting it to his lips.

"Logan - dude! We don't - we don't know if it's - it could be - "

Logan looks up and shrugs, "Only one way to find out," and slurps some through his lips, swallowing easily.

Kendall holds his breath, and when in _god's name_ did their roles reverse like this, cautious tight-ass versus mindlessly careless daredevil? In some corner of his mind, he suspects it has something to do with necessity. If Logan's going to abandon his rightful role, someone's got to fucking take it up.

Logan looks at him, testing the taste with a few licks over his lips. "Seems fine."

Kendall nods absently. "Let's go."

It takes the trek back up the slope for his heartbeat to return to normal, for him to remember to breathe, and they're halfway back into the woods when a return to relative mental normalcy causes Kendall to stop in his tracks and turn around, taking in the sight before them.

He wonders what Logan saw when he crept to the ledge; wonders what his eyes were chasing, drawn to. He's not sure about Logan, but for Kendall, it hits him at once.

It's nothing new, really, but it's the first time his mind's let him think it.

The sight is maybe, a little bit, completely _perfect_.

It's perfect in the way the sunset was perfect, in that sickening way where nothing should be perfect.

It's perfect in a photographer's way.

It's.

Yeah.

Kendall swallows the lump in his throat, quick and efficient. He's getting good at that.

He hadn't realized how lost he'd been in his thoughts until he feels Logan beside him, slipping still-damp fingers into Kendall's.

"Isn't it the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?" he whispers sadly, like its beauty is cursed.

Kendall doesn't answer, because _Logan_ is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"We'll take a picture," Logan says. "Before we leave, we'll take a picture. For Guitar Dude, and Jett."

Kendall still doesn't answer, because this time the lump in his throat is too big to swallow.

The walk back is silent, not forced but natural, and Kendall lets himself breathe.

It's so silent, so trance-like with the repeated rhythms of the forest's sounds, that the moment they hit the beach, their feet colliding with sun-baked sand, the noise that greets them, far from the harmony of insect choruses they'd come to tune out, nearly scares them out of their fucking skin.

"_FUCK!_"

By the time Kendall has blinked, Carlos has flung himself at Logan, lifting him off his feet and holding him as tight as if someone were threatening to rip Logan from his arms. Logan simply goes with it, gripping back just as tight like he'd been equally worried about Carlos, wrapping his legs around Carlos's waist like a kid and burying his face in Carlos's neck. Kendall can hear Carlos spitting out halfheartedly angry nonsense like "off by yourself" and "not telling us" and "don't ever again," and Logan just clings silently, never once looking up while allowing Carlos to carry him the few feet back to camp.

James isn't quite as ravenous. He watches their scene until Logan's safely back at camp with Carlos shoving snack packs at him, before turning to Kendall, standing alone at the edge of the forest.

James steps forward. "We were worried."

"Sorry, I'm sorry, we just - "

"Jesus fuck, Ken, shut up," James sighs tiredly before closing the distance between them and scooping Kendall into a bear hug. "Just promise you won't take off again without telling us, okay?"

Kendall nods, holding James tight against him.

James lets him go after a moment, holding him at arm's length. "Where'd you go?"

"We found water."

"You - fuck. Seriously?"

Kendall nods, staring at his shoes, still guilt-ridden for having driven Carlos into such a fit.

"Fuck, Ken, you're awesome."

"Logan found it."

"Then you're both awesome." James smiles, squeezing Kendall's shoulder.

Kendall nods a brief acknowledgment, not looking up as he starts toward camp, but James catches his hand.

"Um. Hey. Um, we - Litos and I were talking." He waits for Kendall to meet his eye, but when he does, he looks like he's lost his nerve to continue. "Um, we want - we want to have a burial."

Kendall doesn't breathe, because it doesn't seem necessary, if even possible, right now.

"We - there's, um. Some parts of the plane, we could use to dig. Me and Litos. And - there's a place, a little ways into the forest, where's there's some flat ground. And. You wouldn't have to - we - Litos - we could do it, you wouldn't need to see, I mean - and then. If you wanted to, after. Y'know. You could be there."

The working parts of Kendall's mind tell him to nod, but somehow he can't.

"You don't - we don't have to," James quickly adds.

"No," Kendall says to the ground. "We should. I want to."

"Are you sure?"

He nods, unthinking. "Thanks."

The word feels obligatory, not right, because he shouldn't be _thankful_ for anything right now, what's to be thankful for, with everyone gone? But James's so earnest, so fucking sincere and desperate that Kendall couldn't say no, couldn't deny him this, couldn't let him think this is unappreciated, because it's really not.

It's just hard. Or whatever is a thousand times beyond hard - having to be reminded, of everything.

He tells himself Guitar Dude would want this, and so would Jett, being immortalized in the most beautiful place on earth, an artist's paradise. And Freight Train, Freight Train would want this too, would want it to be them, the four of them, the ones he's protected for so long, now protecting _him_.

He tells himself all this to convince himself he can handle it, but really, none of it is hard to believe. It makes enough sense that it stops feeling like bullshit, and when he looks up at James, he nods again, this time conscious and solid, and virtually speechless at James's strength through it all.

"James, I."

"I know."

When he tries to read James's face, it's the easiest thing in the world.

Almost as easy as loving him.


	5. Chapter 5

_"It shouldn't hurt."_

_Carlos squeezes Logan's hand, which is about all he's been able to do with it since they stopped the car in front of the funeral home and Logan grabbed hold of him and refused to let go. Carlos occasionally brushes his thumb over the soft back of Logan's hand, rubbing little circles into the pliable skin between the thumb and index finger. But mostly he's content to squeeze, hoping Logan knows he can squeeze back just as hard, as hard as he needs._

_"That's bullshit, Logie," he says gently._

_"Why? _You're _my family. Not him. Not really."_

_"He's still your father." Carlos is careful not to say "dad," because there's a difference, there just is._

_"It's fucking stupid," Logan spits, swiping roughly at a falling tear before it can get very far._

_Another squeeze. "I know."_

_They look so strange like this, in pressed black suits and ties, Logan with his rarely used glasses on. Some kind of ritualistic symbolism, probably, but just as much to hide from relatives who hadn't cared in the past, and were only showing any kind of sympathy due to the circumstances._

_"Don't let go of my hand, okay?"_

_"I won't."_

_"I don't fucking care if everyone in there thinks we're gay, just, don't."_

_"I - I don't care either. I've never cared about that."_

_"Thanks."_

_"...Logan?"_

_It hurts when Logan looks at him, Carlos being forced to face the wet, bloodshot eyes, watching him with all the trust and hope Logan has left._

_"I'm here," Carlos says._

_"Always?"_

_"Always always."_

_And Logan smiles. They'll never share that secret promise, never use it around another living soul, and they'll never _ever_ admit that they got it from_Stepmom_, or that Logan cries at the end of the movie every time._

_No one needs to know, because_they_know. And that's always, always been enough._

Digging graves for three of his closest friends is not how Carlos would have planned to spend his twenty-first birthday. Or any birthday, ever.

He volunteers because he's got the strongest arms, the roughest hands from years of cutting grass, and because he hasn't lost someone - not _like that_, at least.

James helps, because he's James. Every time Carlos looks over at him, James's eyes are red and swollen, but Carlos never sees a single tear. He tries to tell him stupidly, "I can do it, James, you don't have to," enough times until James looks at him and says, "Litos," and he doesn't have to say anything else.

Logan tries to help and they won't let him because Logan doesn't have enough muscle to use the bits of plane they're using to dig. He stays back with Kendall (they won't let him help, either, and he doesn't argue because he kind of isn't speaking at all), going through the suitcase they'd salvaged - James's - and lining up useful items in a row beside camp, which Carlos catches sight of when he returns for water: James's Swiss army knife (and James's awesomeness compounds exponentially, just like that). Stupid Cuda products that won't be of any use except to maybe impress some trees (along with a lucky comb that doesn't seem so lucky anymore). Toothpaste, a couple of toothbrushes, clothes, scissors, James's battery-powered razor and a few packaged ones from Kendall's suitcase, which is about the most useful item Kendall has, the rest of his suitcase filled with clothes, shoes, hair products, cologne, CDs, magazines. His wallet: now useless credit cards, a photo of the band, one of his family, one of Guitar Dude, and two condoms.

And tucked away behind the lining of his suitcase, where no one will ever look (except Carlos did, once, desperately searching for band-aids after a shaving accident), a four-year-old shot snapped candidly by Jo without the knowledge of either of the photo's subjects: Kendall splayed across Logan's lap on the orange couch in the apartment, arms around Logan's neck, with that grin no one but Logan's ever received; and Logan, holding him up and, miracle beyond miracles, grinning back. Jo had handed it to Kendall the next day with a little sideways smile, a knowing wink, and not a single word.

Carlos had witnessed the exchange from the kitchen table, caught Kendall's eye, and tried to say _Be careful_, but Kendall wasn't reading eyes yet.

On one trip back for water, Carlos finds Logan and Kendall seated in front of a pile of coconuts that they'd apparently collected from the ground around camp, glaring at them with clenched fists, sweat beads dotting their foreheads, and a sharp stone lying abandoned between them.

"Yeah, um, they're like rocks," Carlos provides a bit belatedly. "It's okay, we'll figure it out."

So Kendall and Logan spend an hour silently playing hangman in the sand with a plastic spoon. Logan cracks a smile when he solves the blanks to reveal "Logan loves cock," even draws a heart beside the words in the sand, but Kendall doesn't look up and doesn't smile, just smoothes over the sand with his fingertips and hands Logan the spoon.

They're not allowed to wander yet, James says, because they don't have any way to defend themselves. Then James goes back to gathering leaves and other easily flammable resources: just as calm, as focused, as if he were fixing his hair in the mirror.

Carlos hopes that if he ever has to lose anyone, he turns into James Diamond for the entire grieving process.

An hour into digging, they realize it's not working, three graves would take days, and the only way this is going to happen is if they set up a god damned _pyre_.

Carlos's heard the smell of burning skin is the worst smell in the world, and he doesn't want to find out.

He forgets about how bad that's going to be during their trips to the plane, fishing out the bodies and carrying them through the water to a distant part of the beach before fetching Jett's to join them, just _praying_ Logan and Kendall won't see. He doesn't think about what the smell will be like, because he knows nothing worse than this could ever assault his senses.

James's face is ashen when he looks at Jett, sickly and translucent and Carlos wants to tell him, _go back, I'll handle it_, but words haven't gotten him very far lately.

The sun's right in Carlos's eyes when they finish, maybe an hour from sunset, and the dying rays skim over their creation like artwork, like a picture - and to detach from the reality of it, Carlos tells himself it's fitting like that.

The leaves, branches and other things they hope will easily catch fire, are arranged so no one can really see the bodies underneath. Carlos has to stop himself, every time, from referring to them by name, even though every time the medical shows did that, he cringed, thought it disrespectful, couldn't understand why they were reduced to _bodies_ just for dying, like they didn't still deserve the respect of their own names.

He understands, now. Names hurt. Names hurt like fucking hell, like knives to soft flesh: cold, dead metal against live, pulsating warmth.

James stands in front of it, his hands limp at his sides with no pockets to hide in. Carlos volunteers to fetch Kendall and Logan and finds Logan standing at the edge of the water staring out, and Kendall lying on his back in the surf, hands behind his head, letting the last ghosts of waves wash over him again and again.

Carlos grabs Kendall's shirt from their stash of supplies before standing in front of them, and says, "Hey."

Logan interprets all the words behind the syllable at once, and Kendall. Kendall's learning, and he follows. And maybe he only follows because he'd follow Logan anywhere, but Carlos gets it, because he'd follow any of them to hell and back and do it all again if he had to.

He starts to realize, maybe that's exactly what they're doing.

There's just enough sun left to summon one cooperative ray at its dying breath, but it's enough to catch the reflection through the lens of Logan's glasses. Carlos holds his breath as James crouches, stock-still on the ground with glasses in hand, watching the inaugural flash of flame melt through one of the balled-up sheets from a magazine and flicker its way through two of the leaves, three, four, before beginning to run rampant through the pyre.

The only smell Carlos can detect is smoke, but it doesn't stop his stomach from lurching.

His eyes sting too, but he knows that's not the smoke.

Kendall's off in a corner, at the edge of the forest, twisting a leaf between shaky fingers, and right now Carlos doesn't trust him not to run if he were to approach him. Logan, for his part, is blank as a canvas when Carlos turns to look at him, his eyes empty and unreadable, even to Carlos, and he knows that's the first sign of disaster.

Logan doesn't stay still for long, and Carlos watches him make his way over to James, eyes set on the uneven ground and he doesn't even stop when he reaches James, just presses himself into James's back and snakes his arms around James's waist, face buried in his neck. Carlos can tell he's talking, can see Logan's lips moving against James's skin, can see the way James's eyes scrunch up tight and the way he lifts his arms to cross over his chest so he can hold onto Logan's wrists, squeezing, almost relaxing into the embrace. Carlos knows what it feels like when Logan does that. Logan's unimaginably stronger than he looks, too, and maybe it's been awhile, but Carlos still remembers never having felt safer than those moments in Logan's arms. Logan's not the most physical person in the world, but when he does touch, he touches like he fucking means it, like he survives off it.

James finally nods, once, and apparently it satisfies Logan enough, because he stops talking, just turns to press his cheek against James's shoulder and they stay like that, like no one's watching, like it's the end of the world and they're all that's left, and barely so, at that.

When Carlos turns back to Kendall, Kendall's watching them too, but looks away when Carlos catches him. Kendall's always been pretty easy to read. His eyes are big, open, too observant to shut anything out, and his body language is unforgivably blatant, betraying, to the point that even the fans have deciphered most of his secrets.

Carlos walks up to him because he can't do anything else, because Kendall looks so _small_ and broken ten times over, and Carlos can't shake the fear that he's done something to worsen it.

"I think I need to go back," Kendall says when Carlos's close enough to hear the whisper.

"I - okay. Do you want - "

Kendall shakes his head, turns and starts back down the beach, and Carlos thinks to himself, there are some secrets even he'll never know.

The final ray of sun, persistent bordering on obsessive, is boring right in Carlos's eyes, blinding in a way that makes him grateful because it means he doesn't have to meet anyone's eyes. He finally understands what Logan meant when they were fifteen and Logan had insisted that his hair cover as much of his face as physically possible, and Carlos made fun of him for months until Logan had finally confessed, small-voiced and crumpled, "This way I don't have to look anyone in the eye."

It had finally made sense then, why Logan always pushed his hair out of his face when it was just him and Carlos, alone.

To his left, Logan's staring at the spot in the middle of all four of them where a campfire might be if they had one, but all that occupies the space are a pile of empty snack wrappers. Every few minutes Logan's eyes will shift focus, and stay there for awhile, barely blinking and never moving until they shift again, to the ground or to something behind someone's shoulder.

He never once looks at Kendall.

James is to Logan's left, facing Carlos and allowing one of his hands to be held captive in Logan's, where it's been since Logan attached himself to James in front of the fire.

Kendall's to James's left and Carlos's right, completing the square, and Carlos wants to reach out and touch him, like he has all along, but the urge is getting so strong he's forgotten why he wanted to in the first place - that it was about comfort, about grief and safety and Kendall being tiny and broken. All he knows now is he wants to touch him - like somehow, it would fix something. Not everything, maybe not anything important. But something.

Kendall doesn't look like he wants to be touched, and that's another item for Carlos to add to his mental list of terrifying post-crash observations, a list that's growing endless and tangled and out of control, like a ball of yarn under the ministrations of a cat.

When the sun starts its final dip, releasing Carlos's eyes from its trap, James speaks. Like he was waiting for Carlos to be able to see him. Waiting for approval. And even after all these years, Carlos can see it sometimes, in interviews, the way James will instinctively look at one of them instead of the interviewer as he speaks, searching for their approval, for their permission; for assurance that he's saying the right thing.

"Um," he starts quietly, searching for a pair of eyes to settle on, and Carlos willingly provides his own. "Litos and I found the plane's radio during one of the trips today."

Logan and Kendall are both offering rapt attention now, breaths halted and maybe heartbeats, too.

"It's - it's broken, but. I think, maybe, if I work on it awhile, we could. I - I don't know, maybe. But. We've got it in a plastic bag, over there, in case it rains - " He gestures to a spot behind Carlos, behind the pillows in a tangle of leaves. "So. I can, uh. Start on that tomorrow."

"Any phones? Cells, iPhones?" Logan asks.

"One," Carlos says. "Well, two, but one was underwater and the other was smashed."

"We did find, uh..." James adds, eyes set meaningfully on Carlos's.

Carlos is half ready to protest because he doesn't want to be the one to do this. Kendall's distanced himself enough as it is, and this will either draw him back or chase him off for good, and Carlos's learned from enough years with Logan not to dwell in foolish optimism.

He reaches behind himself and pulls out the battered remains of Guitar Dude's camera, proffering it to Kendall. Kendall looks at it like it might disappear, or maybe like it's not really there at all, or maybe like he's expecting it to do or say something, and after enough speculation Carlos admits to himself he really can't tell at all how Kendall's looking at it, because he's not breaking down like James did over Jetts's and he's not running and he's not crying. He's not _doing anything_.

When he does, it's only to take the camera from Carlos's hands and hold it on his lap, gingerly, reactionless and robotic - nothing momentous as Carlos had both hoped and feared, and in fact the most notable thing about the moment is the fact that Logan's looking at the camera like it's just informed him, with a megaphone in front of ten thousand people, that his bandmates have never loved him.

"Loges?" Carlos asks softly, but Logan eyes shifting to his, dark and warning, are enough to convince him, once again, that words are not going to get him anywhere right now.

James breaks the silence and everything else in the air, gentle and tentative. "We've got enough stuff here to make some spears, so, you know... we can start trying to fish until they find us."

"If," Logan huffs.

Carlos almost snaps something back about negativity, but James adds quickly, "I know. We don't know anything, Logie. I mean..." His eyes dart around again, searching.

"Where are we?" Logan asks, unthreatening this time.

James looks at Carlos, but they could be on the fucking moon for all Carlos knows.

"Indonesia, maybe?" James offers. "Somewhere around there?"

"And what do we fucking know about Indonesia?"

"That it's got like eighteen thousand islands and there's still like sixty gazillion that no one's ever set foot on," Kendall interjects suddenly. His voice is unrecognizably soft, but that does nothing to prevent the undivided attention of three horrified sets of eyes.

"How do you know that?" James asks.

"Animal Planet," Kendall whispers.

There's the disconcerting sound of mismatched breaths, four separate, colliding rhythms that are driving Carlos insane, maybe more so than the words themselves.

"Okay," James says. "So. Okay."

_So okay nothing_, Carlos thinks. But when James looks at him, pleading silent and desperate, Carlos whispers, "I'm in."

He extends one hand across the sand toward Logan, walking his fingers out as far as they'll go, and Logan takes hold of them with one hand, automatically running through a vague approximation of their secret handshake before gripping tight, relentless and deliberate.

"I'm in," Logan says to the ground.

"I'm in," says James.

Kendall says, "I'm going for a walk."

And Carlos thinks, _it's over_, until Kendall's eyes catch his for a moment he might've imagined, if he hadn't been hoping for it so hard.

_"He didn't mean it."_

_Kendall looks up from where he's perched against the brick wall outside the studio, and Carlos can see his breath when he exhales, leaving winter-reddened lips in lazy wisps. New York fucking sucks balls this time of year, and Carlos misses LA in a way he hadn't thought was emotionally possible._

_"Sure he does. Says it enough."_

_Carlos stands beside him and holds out a Tootsie Pop he'd been saving in his pocket for just this occasion, because Logan's outbursts are like time bombs, inevitable and explosive. Kendall takes it, even working up a weak smile as he wrestles off the wrapper._

_"You're awesome."_

_"So are you. And he knows it. He _does_," Carlos insists when Kendall huffs. "He's - this is his life, Ken. I'm not making excuses, I'm just - like, if he loses this - "_

_"If he loses it, he's still got school," Kendall hisses, meeting his eyes. "If I lose this, I've got nothing. I've already lost most of my family."_

_"You're an idiot," Carlos sighs, and immediately remembers, again, why Logan's the smart one. "You'll have me, too."_

_Kendall looks at him as skeptically as he can manage, which isn't very successful because it's clear he wants to believe it so badly._

_To profess his undying devotion, Carlos goes so far as to remove one of his frozen hands from his jacket pocket and close it over Kendall's, equally chilled, but somehow the contact warms him._

_"I promise. You'll have me."_

_He wishes he had the right words to say,_You always have_._

_But Logan's the smart one._

Carlos at least does him the honor of a two-minute head start before climbing to his feet and setting off down the shore. Kendall's still visible in the distance, and it's almost adorable (if adjectives like that can be used right now, when everything is... _this_), how he's moving slow enough to be easily followed.

Even on small levels, that kind of predictability, _Kendall's_, is comforting in ways Carlos can't seem to define.

They walk together until the sun is just a bright, glowing line where water meets sky; until Kendall's hand has brushed up against his enough times that Carlos is convinced his presence isn't unwanted.

"Don't mind Logan."

He doesn't expect those to be the first words out of his own mouth, but apparently he can still surprise himself - and Kendall, who finally meets his eyes.

"I - He's. There's just. There's a lot in his head."

"Like what?" Kendall can't keep the slight bitterness out of his voice, but Carlos can't blame him because, yeah, okay, out of everyone here, Logan is clearly not the one with the worst shit in his head right now.

"I... he'll tell you. When he's ready."

Carlos only hopes he's right.

"That's not fair," Kendall accuses softly, scuffing his toe into a patch of recently wave-washed sand.

"I know. Nothing here is. But. We're here."

"No shit."

"I mean..." Words, fucking _words_, no wonder Logan's always got a stick up his ass, this is the shit he's got to deal with all day long. "I mean, we're here _together_. I know it's - I know, not everyone's - " _Not everyone's_here _because some of us are fucking _dead_, Jesus fucking Christ, Garcia_. "I mean. Fuck, Kendall, I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm trying to say. I'm not good at this."

"You're perfect, Litos."

They stop then - for Carlos, simply out of shock - half facing each other, and Carlos can see Kendall outlined by the glowing line of sunset too. He looks picturesque, fucking beautiful even... but mostly he looks older.

"I'm sorry I haven't told you. I'm sorry I - I don't even know, Litos." His eyes are welling up, even splashing down over his cheeks a bit, but he never falters. "I'm just so fucking scared and everything's wrong and - but you. You've been amazing."

"I've been a fucking _mess_, Kendall."

Kendall smiles, just a bit, and maybe two days isn't a long time in the scheme of a lifespan, but two days _without Kendall's smile_ might as well _be_ a lifetime.

"You're an amazing mess, and I love you."

Carlos opens his mouth to say it back, but there's an ominous lump in his throat.

Kendall turns to keep walking, slipping his hand into Carlos's.

"Happy Birthday."

"Thanks." Carlos bumps into his shoulder a bit on purpose, solidifying the morbid sarcasm, and Kendall pushes back against him, hanging off Carlos's arm, both his hands now wrapped around it.

"I never did thank you," Kendall says.

"For what?"

"Saving me, in the beginning."

And the significance of one word, _beginning_, just like that, lifts one of some three dozen weights on Carlos's chest right now - Kendall's recognition of this as, very possibly, something with a "beginning," not simply a brief interlude. If Carlos is bold enough to hope, it might just be the start of Kendall's acceptance.

Carlos smiles a bit, nudges Kendall's side. "Well, I wasn't gonna let you lie around all lazy and unconscious, we needed your help."

Kendall smiles against his shoulder, enough for Carlos to feel it, and it feels _wonderful_.

He counts eleven steps, four of which their feet bump together trying to avoid bits of seaweed or little shells embedded in the sand. He's just getting used to the silence again, when Kendall turns his face once more, speaking right into Carlos's skin:

"It wasn't the worst thing to wake up to, by the way."

Carlos can feel himself blush and it's ridiculous, mortifying and _ridiculous_, and even _more_ ridiculous that he smiles. But even as he whispers "I love you too," the blush fades and the smile dissolves into something warm, comfortable, and their footprints wash away behind them, easy enough to pretend they weren't there, almost like the moment never happened.


	6. Chapter 6

_During the European leg of their very first tour, Kendall gets sick._

_He casually claims it's a cold, a simple cold, Logan, seriously – but Logan insists it's some kind of pneumonia bordering on tuberculosis, so the general compromise among all tourmates is to call it the flu, avoid him like the plague, and be done with it._

_Luckily they've got half a week off; and as it's upon Logan's insistence that Kendall be essentially banished to quarantine, he at least has the decency to spend most of their time apart texting Kendall for hours on end with eighty percent less snark and thirty percent more affection than usual._

_Carlos and James text him too, mostly Carlos, who spends the majority of his texts complaining about Logan's increased bitchiness due to Kendall's condition._

_For three days Kendall saves and lock-protects all his favorite texts, and at least once every hour he re-reads one exchange with Logan:_

we're 50 mi. west of you in some seedy bar james insisted we visit. its cold & fucking pouring rain here. ur always warm. i wish i were there with you.

_They were the most openly affectionate words Logan had ever directed at him, and Kendall's fingers had trembled as he'd responded,_

i'll click my heels, maybe you'll come home.

isnt it the other way around? _Logan had written._ dont i have to click mine?

_Kendall takes a breath and punches out on his keypad, _maybe not if i wish it hard enough.

_Then something happens that makes Kendall stop thinking about Logan Mitchell, and that is the first sign of its awesomeness._

_The next evening, the last of Kendall's quarantine, James knocks on Big Time Rush's abandoned-but-for-Kendall tour bus until Kendall wakes up and stumbles to the door._

_James is standing there, brilliantly smiling, and chirps, "Hi!"_

_"Can't let you in," Kendall drawls, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Rules."_

_"Uh, yeah, not a problem," James says, taking a step forward and, planting both hands on the other boy's shoulders says, "I have a present for you."_

_Kendall blinks, and James smiles at him a little shyly._

_"Me!" he explains, as if this is explanation at all._

_James walks through the door, as if presenting himself._

_"I'm the most awesome person you know," James announces. "And I got a flu shot. So I can keep you company."_

_Kendall smiles brighter than he has in days. "Really?"_

_"If you want?" James offers._

_"Oh my god, yes." Kendall reaches out into the rain and grabs a sleeve of James's hoodie, pulling him up into the bus. "I love you."_

_"Psh, you love_Logan_," James smirks, drawing out Logan's name in sing-song tones like they're twelve, female, and writing "Mrs. Whatever" in hearts on their algebra homework._

_Kendall turns beet red, pushes James in, and slams the door._

_"All I have left is bananas and chips and Twizzlers, and also Red Bull and possibly frozen dinners," Kendall rambles, ticking off the checklist of items on the fingers of his free hand as he drags James to the back lounge. "There's also popsicles Kelly gave us last week but Logan stole most of them when he banished me."_

_"That's horrible!"_

_"Dude, right?!"_

_Kendall stops in the middle of the bunk area and turns around, studying James with a blindingly new, beautiful perspective. He smiles and says, "I think I love you."_

_James laughs, and it's an awesome laugh – and, hey, awesome. He was right. James is totally, totally awesome._

_James maybe blushes a little, and says, "You kind of love everyone, don't you?"_

_They reach the lounge, and Kendall seats himself dramatically on the sofa, raising an eyebrow at James, and this is before he managed to do that with a straight face. "Saying I'm a slut?"_

_"Um." James idly picks up Kendall's iPod that had been lying half-buried between the cushions, and scrolls through his recent tracks. "I don't think anyone who's got Aladdin on their playlist could really effectively be called a slut."_

_He grins at Kendall, and Kendall grins back, but stares at the floor. "Don't make fun of me."_

_"Dude, I'm – no. No way."_

_His eyes scan the room a little desperately, like he's searching for something to complement his incoherence, and when he spots an acoustic propped against the wall, he snatches it up, repositioning himself on the sofa and strumming out a few tentative chords before falling into a pattern, a rhythm that becomes fantastically familiar._

_"Oh my god." Kendall's mouth stretches into a grin. "Is that – "_

_"Yeah, you gonna sing along or just piss yourself with delight?"_

_And it would sound so_ridiculous_if anyone else said it, but in James's voice, it sounds awesome._

_So Kendall launches into "A Whole New World," bold and theatrical, and in stark contrast to Logan's eye rolls or Carlos's I-don't-know-you stares, James fucking_harmonizes_._

_James tucks him into bed at ten o'clock sharp, running gentle, calloused fingers through Kendall's hair as he hums "Kiss the Girl," and Kendall can't remember falling asleep, only remembers running down a wide, open beach with three other figures, faceless but smiling. He thinks maybe they're characters from the movie._

_Three years later, he'll think something else._

_The next morning, James's temperature reads a hundred and two._

"Wait, not so - don't grip it so hard."

"Okay."

"Just - gentle, and hold it closer to the base, like this... good."

"Kay."

"And, careful, you want to stroke slow and even, just... "

"Like this?"

"Yeah, good... good."

"Oh my god, are you _kidding_ me?"

Kendall and James look up in unison to find Logan watching them the way he watches Jerry Springer (okay, it was once, but it was totally memorable, he even used the word existentialism (_existentialism!_) when analyzing Jerry's final thought): a nice, even mixture of fascination and horror.

Kendall glances down to where his and James's hands are joined on the end of what they're trying to turn into a spear; to where James's hand is cupped over his on the blade, where James's trying to ensure Kendall doesn't slice off someone's limb. He smiles, first at James, then beamingly at Logan.

James smiles too. "Ignore him, Kendall. Where were we?"

"Uh, you were, um, teaching me how to stroke it, James."

"Right." His eyes dramatically flutter shut as he leans closer, chest pressed lightly against Kendall's back. "You like the way it feels in your hand, Ken?"

"God, yeah... so big and - "

"For the love of god!" Logan even breaks monotone, flailing stupidly at them as he flings bits of the coconut he's attempting to cut up. "Just, _stop_."

But Logan's utter shit at lying (hence his envy for how successful girls seem to be at it), and even James and Kendall's obnoxious twelve-year-old giggles are enough to draw out a grin, which he tries to hide by chopping wildly at his pieces, alternately pushing his old, black-rimmed glasses up on the bridge of his nose. He'd started wearing them full-time a week ago when none of them could recover any contact solution in their findings, and Kendall (trying hard, hard not to steal too many looks, because Logan in glasses, oh god) had fast followed suit, surrendering his only when the need for fire had arisen.

The "need" for fire may be an exaggeration, though, because this is the first day they've managed to locate materials remotely suitable for spear-making, and James's used up half the day making them while Carlos's spent his half standing motionless ten feet into the water, staring down at what could easily be nothing, one hand gripping the momentous (if slightly lopsided) inaugural spear. No one's dared approach him, because somehow Carlos always makes sense in the end.

Two weeks in island years, it seems, are a bit longer.

When faced with the fight for survival - the most basic yet strongest human instinct - even the most intense emotions can be pushed to the side, repressed or rushed through or deactivated.

Grief is one such emotion.

It's not like they've forgotten because they _can't_. It's just. It'll strike, in little stinging puffs of reality, and then it'll retreat, because there's water to fetch and coconuts to smash open and strange mango-looking things to test out (score one for food sources), there's camp to reconstruct daily before dinner because it rains every afternoon for forty-five minutes; there are spears to carve and re-carve and then there's new material to look for because the first spears split in two at first use, and what the fuck, and if Freight Train were here he'd fix it, shit, he'd probably catch the damn fish with his bare hands, and -

Yeah. No. They can't forget.

Part of Kendall wishes he could, and then other parts of him feel guilty for wishing something so selfish.

He's been existing in waves. Not the kind that lull them to sleep every night now, but a sort of intangible kind, something you can't see or touch, maybe like radio waves. He's on some kind of unpredictable frequency where he'll be fine, seriously almost fine, and then he'll catch his eyes wandering over the lines of Logan's back (or James's, or Carlos's) as he rips down vines, and Guitar Dude's presence won't be there to make him feel stupidly guilty, and then his stomach will lurch and flip and guilt will be redefined.

James is better at this, or so it seems to Kendall. James is this, like, zen master without even trying. He's taking his grief in stride, spreading it out evenly over an indefinite period of time and dealing with it, steadily, manageably.

Even so, this is the first day he's laughed, and it's contagious. Everything about James is contagious, always has been.

Logan is... Logan, magnified. Like how Guitar Dude would take an ordinary photo in one of his editing programs and turn up the contrast, so everything that was dark would be darker; everything subtle and near-hidden would become invisible. Small, vulnerable things exposed in the original photo would now be completely masked.

He's quiet, even for Logan. He'll have these moments when he'll speak up, slip into something that might resemble who he was three weeks ago, and then catch himself, like he's done something wrong, something shameful - and he'll retreat, throw up his walls, and no one can get through.

Carlos probably could, but he knows better than to try.

And Carlos - Carlos has been watching. Walking on eggshells, probably always wondering who's going to break down and when, and what he'll have to do to hold them up. Carlos has gotten good at that, after an entire lifetime by Logan's side, but Kendall doesn't think it's fair that he's practically forced into the role now, threefold.

He watches Carlos from where he's seated in front of James, where Carlos is still standing calf-deep in the water, staring down at it, spear in hand, where he's been for seriously like three hours, and thank god they'd unearthed some sunscreen and t-shirts because otherwise Carlos's already caramel complexion would be the color of coconuts. The sun's been good today, though, not blinding, not searing, just bright and warm and casting a gleaming yellow shadow over green leaves, turning the sand a crisp white. Carlos's hair is matted and sticks up in strange places, a predictable side effect of constant exposure to the elements and salt water, and Kendall realizes for the first time that, hey, it works on him. It's messy and sexy and it makes him look more reckless than usual, a trait that used to annoy him.

"-don't think your passionate bookworm appreciates _our_ epic passion, Ken."

"I love how you pawn me off on him when it's convenient."

"Yeah. I love it too."

Snapping back to his own present, Kendall turns to find Logan and James locked into a mutual smile, small and a little mischievous, before Logan ducks his head and returns to battling with his coconut.

"Hey, Loges." James's voice has shifted even in these few seconds, and Kendall knows what's coming. "You want me to show you how to do this?"

There's the barest hint of effected optimism in his tone, because he and Kendall both know it's futile.

Logan shrugs, missing a beat as he slices, and the smile in his features is gone, shadowed and then vanished. (Kendall's reminded of the way the sun disappears suddenly every day before it rains, and it's a lame metaphor, okay, but it _fits_.) Logan simply says, "I'm okay."

"Well," James continues, his tone still light, "I'm not making any more of these things for you girls, you're gonna have to learn to do it yourself."

"I don't need one," Logan says quietly. "Thanks."

Defeated, James stares down at the ground, pokes aimlessly at a shell wedged into the sand.

Logan's been emitting these little self-effacing vibes since the beginning, refusing food and training and advice and tools to the point that Carlos has had to glare him down more than once. Logan will relent only when forced, and it doesn't make any sense, the way the rest of them are coping shockingly well with everything and Logan's fallen into this ridiculous (because seriously, it's _ridiculous_) sect of depression when he's the one who's suffered and lost the least out of all of them.

He'd get yelled at a lot more for it, if everyone weren't so fucking worried about him.

"I'm gonna go for a walk."

Logan starts to uncross his legs to stand, when Kendall clamps a hand down over his arm and stares him down, eye to eye.

"No, you're not." And before his own bravado can surprise him, he goes on. "Maybe you don't give a shit whether you survive this, but we do, and that's three against one so you're not allowed to _not try_, Logan, because I love you and I wouldn't make it if anything happened to you, so fucking get over your complexes and remember we're not just staying alive for ourselves, we're doing it for each other."

It feels like the waves, the breeze, the forest noises freeze right along with Kendall's breath. James isn't moving, and Logan's watching Kendall with an infuriating blankness, a slightly open mouth the only betrayal of his surprise.

And, fuck. It's been awhile since Kendall's had something to call him out on, and even longer since he's actually done it. Usually he leaves the calling out for Carlos, or even James, because Logan's argumentative streak has always seemed a little darker, a little feistier, when it's Kendall.

It does nothing to ease Kendall's generic Logan-worries when all Logan does is stare at him for ten seconds, swallow, whisper, "I'm sorry," and slowly hold a hand out toward James, who moves to hand him the half-formed spear and sit beside him, his movements equally slow, hesitant, careful, like Logan might change his mind or bolt or, god forbid, decide the blade might be better put to use on his own wrists. Because yeah, Logan's been really good for years, grown up and moved on and out of all that; there are barely any scars left - but time doesn't seem to function normally here, for all they know it could be moving backwards, and Logan's proven the most unpredictable of all of them since this started.

It's strange, how they've shifted, taken each other's places where there are gaps. Where Kendall and James's functions had been comfort, Carlos has now taken the job, and where Logan's tendency had been toward dedication, action, commitment... now Kendall's the one who feels unusually grounded, motivated to keep them all herded together, unified and strong.

Even if he's in pieces himself.

He wants to say it back, _I'm sorry_, because losing your temper is merely purchasing your own guilt if your subject doesn't retaliate. But Logan's focus is already elsewhere, and James is speaking in soft tones, offering the first few instructions on holding the blade, and Logan's nodding, even smiling when James makes a dumb joke from his Boy Scout years, and Kendall figures he's done enough.

Carlos is still a statue when Kendall gets there, not even acknowledging his presence until Kendall says, "Litos?"

"Mm."

"Um. The fuck are you doing?"

"Watching."

"Watching what?"

"Fish."

Okay, come on, isn't Logan the only one allowed to play the loveable jackass card?

Kendall's going to start fidgeting because, seriously. "Are you, like. Trying to pick the fattest one or something, 'cause like, I'm pretty sure any fish whatsoever would be totally awesome."

Carlos smiles sideways at him, even favoring him with a glance before returning his eyes to the water. "I'm watching the way they move."

"...Oh."

"Everything has a rhythm. Every species. We move in a specific way, cats move in a specific way, fish move in a specific way. When you find it - when you can break it down and understand it - you can predict where they'll go next. And when to strike."

"Oh. Are you talking out of your ass?"

"In the sense that I have no idea whether this is actually a science, yes. But you can't tell me it doesn't sound _awesome_."

"No, it totally does." They share a smile. "Can I try?"

"Knock yourself out." Carlos thrusts the spear at him, and Kendall suspects the enthusiasm is not so much because Carlos needs a break, but because Kendall trying to catch fish in an almost-scientific way is probably going to be the most entertaining thing Carlos has seen in months. Kendall has no delusions or embarrassment about his own entertainability, or whatever you'd call it (he's seen pics of himself bowling, after all), and besides, there may still be that tiny primitive part of him that is hoping Logan might look up from the shore just as Kendall nails some twenty-pound catfish or something, because, yeah, of course they have catfish here, he's positive.

Either way, he's got a big spear in his hand and he's totally going to catch his own dinner; hell, he's going to catch _all_ of their dinners, and this is the manliest he's felt since that time he beat James at arm-wrestling. Granted, James was drunk and Kendall was using both arms, but _still_.

He stares into the water for thirty seconds, thirty _whole seconds_, spear poised, trying to at least follow one fish without losing sight of it, before he launches himself - not the spear, so much, but his entire body mass - in the fish's general direction.

He recovers, blinking the salt water out of his eyes and sweeping his hair off his face. Carlos is looking at him the way Logan looks at an inaccurate math solution: a simple, bewildered questioning of its existence.

Then he bursts out laughing, which, obviously, is way less humiliating.

"Fine, you do it!" Kendall smirks, changing his mind entirely and hoping Logan does not see _any_ of this, or James for that matter, because James might decide he's not qualified to have a spear at all, and that would suck in majorly epic ways.

"-how you even manage to _walk_ most days," Carlos is mumbling as he snatches his spear back. "Out of the water. Go."

He punctuates it with a reassuring smile, so Kendall resigns himself to shore, watching as Carlos returns to being a statue, the exact same position Kendall had found him in, and Kendall's almost ready to turn around and start a trip for some water, convinced Carlos's just set himself up for another three hours of staring, when a sharp, lightning-fast jerk of his arm jolts Kendall's attention, and in the time it takes him to blink, the spear's out of Carlos's hand and sticking up out of the water a few feet away.

Carlos reaches forward, pulling it out of the ocean bed, and skewered triumphantly on the end is a fish.

The human part of Kendall's brain momentarily makes him a little dizzy because, fuck, that's so wrong and gross and yet, _fuck_, Carlos totally just _did_that.

"Holy fuck, dude!" James calls, lighting up Carlos's thousand-watt grin, and Kendall turns around to find James and Logan transfixed at the sight, mouths hanging open.

"I knew there was a reason I kept you around," Logan adds, eyes bright behind his glasses.

"Jackass," Carlos says fondly, tossing the fish toward Kendall on shore.

"What, am I like, fish transport system now?"

Carlos shrugs. "Either that, or you can skin them."

Kendall's stomach lurches just at the thought, and he gingerly picks up the poor fish by its tail, managing not to look at it even once, and dumps it somewhere near Logan and James.

"I want to skin one," Logan chirps.

"You're disgusting."

"You're a pussy."

"You're both pussies," James chimes in, "and anyway, _I_ made the spear so _I_ get to skin it."

Kendall is rendered speechless at the sudden realization that, at this moment, it is entirely possible he is the most mature member of his band.

But by the time he finishes this thought, the sharp _whoosh_ of a spear strikes the air again, and when he looks up, Carlos is holding up a second fish.

"Fuckin' hell, man!" Kendall shrieks. "Fucking _teach_ me already."

Carlos rolls his eyes, but gestures for Kendall to approach. "Okay, so - stop it!" he starts as Kendall makes a grab for the spear. "You're not ready."

"I _am_, Jedi Fishmaster."

"Dude, if you - "

"Okay, no, I'm listening."

Carlos eyes him warily, but sighs. "Look at them, go on." Kendall stares down into the water, trying to make some sense out of the seemingly arbitrary movements of the fish swimming between their feet. "There's - okay, you used to be a drummer, right, so. What you've got to focus on is three beats. There's the beat when you realize you're ready to take the shot, right?"

"Okay."

"And the third is the beat when you take it. But the beat that _matters_ is the one in between the first and the third - because the movement of the fish in _that_ beat is gonna determine where it's going next, and where you're gonna aim."

"Um. Okay."

"So." With blatant reluctance, Carlos hands him the spear. "Try now."

"Um. Yeah."

Kendall doesn't think this is anything like drumming, at all, but he follows instructions as best he can, stabbing energetically at the water on the final beat and lifting his spear to reveal a string of seaweed impaled on the end.

Logan laughs from the shore. "So not eating that."

"Whatever, Mitchell, you could some greens. Think of Popeye. You've got less muscle than your girlfriend."

"Well maybe _you_ should be my girlfriend, I mean, you've got the childbearing hips and all."

"Asshole. You just want me to have your babies."

"You _would_ have the babies in our relationship; god."

"I'd have no choice, man! Can you imagine _you_ pregnant? None of us would survive like, a single day!"

"At least I'd be disciplined enough to keep my figure; you would_totally_ get fat."

"Dude, _what_ figure? You don't _have_ a figure, unless we're talking stick figures."

"Yeah, well I've got one _stick figure_ that certainly doesn't need any bulking up."

"Logan _Mitchell_!"

"_Boys__!_" James warns through a smile that lands somewhere between affectionate and exasperated and just plain amazed that these conversations actually take place in his presence (or at all).

"Fine," Logan surrenders, dragging himself to his feet and starting for the water. "I'm going to see if I can find like... pans or something."

"Uh, yeah, dude," Kendall can't resist, "and grab some lemon pepper and garlic while you're at it, maybe some olive oil - "

Logan flips him off and grins, leaning over to splash some water in his direction for good measure, before taking off toward the wreckage. He stops by Carlos first, a hand automatically coming to Carlos's hip as he leans in to whisper something quick in his ear. Carlos softly snaps, "Shut up!" but he's grinning, blushing even, and Kendall knows better than to say a word to them, so he looks to James for explanation.

James is just grinning at his fish, but Kendall strongly suspects it's not about the fish at all.

He's missing something, he knows, but that's typical, and considering every single member of his band is smiling now, right now, for the first time in almost a month... Kendall can't bring himself to care about anything else.

_"I'm going gay."_

_Logan's been really good about ignoring distractions all night, focused hard on his history essay, but he figures he should probably look up for this one._

_"Um," he says._

_Carlos slams his bedroom door behind him. "So apparently I'm the only guy in my class who hasn't kissed a girl yet."_

_Ohhhh._

_"Dude, how do you even - do you guys like, seriously_talk_about that shit?"_

_"I just, I've_heard_, okay?"_

_"Okay."_

_"So, what is it? Am I fundamentally unkissable? Am I?"_

_"Oh my god, what the fuck? You're only fourteen."_

_"You kissed Jenna when you guys were eleven!"_

_"Well she was a slut, plus you've been complaining all year that there aren't any girls in any of your classes you like enough to ask out, how do you expect to_kiss_one? Like, subtly try to go for the water fountain at the same time?"_

_Carlos glares._

_"Sorry," Logan amends quickly, folding in on himself a bit. "But, um, I don't think going gay is gonna make your life easier."_

_"Whatever, and way to like, totally avoid my question."_

_"You are not 'unkissable,' you moron, holy fuck!"_

_"Prove it, then, find me someone who wants to kiss me. I mean, how do I even know if I'm any good? I'm already in high school, I mean, I need to_know_these things, you know? And - "_

_"Oh my god." Logan makes a whole show of setting down his pens, his books, his notes and notebook and laptop, bitching to himself all the while and concluding, as he stomps over to where Carlos's standing, "You so asked for it."_

_"Asked for wh- "_

_But Logan's mouth is on his then; strong, wiry fingers cupping his face to hold him still, and, god, this doesn't feel as strange as he'd expected. When he feels Carlos offering a nervous, shell-shocked response, starting to carefully move his lips against Logan's, Logan leans in further, feeling his body relax as he slips his tongue forward and Carlos is finally right there with him, on the same page, opening up to him as they stand there in the middle of the room, working out a gentle rhythm together, the last beats of a Blink song (Logan really wouldn't be able to tell you which one, not now) soft and familiar on the stereo._

_When they break apart, Carlos stares at him like he's grown an extra head. But, like, an extra head that sprouts corndogs or gold or recording contracts or something._

_"You're insane," Carlos decides with a smile, flushing instantly at the breathless tone of his voice._

_"Yeah," Logan agrees, suddenly feeling his own face heat up, and that_is_weird, because this kind of stuff he's never much been nervous about. "Um. You're any good. You're, a lot good."_

_"Yeah, right."_

_"No, dude. You're." Logan steps back, okay, yeah, because, yeah. "Seriously. Good." He doesn't think this sounds very convincing, and briefly considers sharing the fact that he's totally half hard in his pants right now, but he thinks that could possibly end... not well._

_"Well that's you," Carlos sighs. "I told you to find someone who_wants_to kiss me."_

_Logan stares at him for a long moment before allowing a hint of a smile to spread across his face. Before Carlos can say anything (and judging by his expression, he's totally about to), Logan just turns on his heel and marches back to the bed, back to his dent in the cushions, and spreads his study supplies across himself._

_"So you gonna order pizza or what?" he says finally, not looking up from his laptop._

_He counts out the sixteen beats it takes before Carlos says, "Um. Yeah. Yeah, just. Yeah. I, um, phone. Gonna - go find it."_

_Logan waits until he hears Carlos's footsteps padding down the hall and the staircase before he lets his smile take over him, and if maybe he licks his lips, trying to chase some remnants of Carlos's taste, no one has to know._

Logan's only been "out" once, as they refer to trips to the wreckage, and it was weird enough that he'd made a point of not going back.

But it's been awhile since he's had some alone time, and it's too fucking hot to go walking anywhere, and seriously, they're going to have an actual _meal_ tonight, and he figures some propriety wouldn't hurt.

Logan's always had a bit of a soft spot for propriety, having largely grown up without any.

The wreckage has been starting to shift a little, sink and detach here and there, and Logan tries hard not to think about how much an eventually fully-submerged plane will decrease their chances of being seen by any search parties.

And there _are_ search parties, he knows it. He can picture the kind of freak-out Gustavo would be having over this, and compared to the yelling he had done in the past, Logan fears for the world.

With the shifting, the first thing Logan spots is a suitcase, and it doesn't take much rummaging to realize it's Guitar Dude's.

For reasons he isn't even letting himself think, it almost sends him over the edge.

But Logan's nothing if not a masochist, and he sits there on the back of an upside-down broken seat and pulls out the one item he figures he probably shouldn't, stuffed all the way at the bottom of Guitar Dude's suitcase: a small, thin portfolio that doesn't look like it's seen much light of day.

When Logan opens the cover and nearly _shits_ himself... he realizes why.

They're photos, all black and white, all _stunning -_ and they're all of Kendall.

Naked.

The voice in his head screaming _stop_ is so obnoxiously beyond loud that he's able to just tune it out, his shaking fingers paging gently through, trying to convince himself, _art, art, it's art_, and it is, clearly, it's _gorgeous_, Guitar Dude's an amazing photographer - but it's also _Kendall, naked_.

And, holy _fuck_.

Yeah, they've all seen each other naked, but this is... this is not that.

There are plenty of other things Logan isn't letting himself think; has spent over five years not letting himself think. But he can't stop looking. That's all he knows right now, is that he can't stop looking. They're incredible; he wishes he could give Guitar Dude all the credit, but holy shit, Guitar Dude probably could've snapped these with a twenty-year-old Polaroid and Kendall would've been just as breathtaking. There's one of him sprawled out on his stomach on the bed (probably no more than a couple months ago, if Logan remembers that hotel room correctly), arm stretched out lazily above his head, chin resting on his other hand, his eyes set straight at the camera and - yeah, Logan's never seen Kendall look at anyone but him that way. There's no overt, theatrical seduction in his face, no mischief, no games: just a tiny, barely sultry little smile, full of affection and trust, features scarcely visible with the backlight of the window behind him, outlining the silhouette of his body.

Logan finds himself tracing over the lines of the photo with one finger, over the perfect curve of Kendall's ass, before he even realizes it, and quickly slams the book shut to find his breath ragged and choppy.

He has no recollection now of why he came out here in the first place, and is roughly working his way through the mess to get back into the water when he spots, floating a few feet away... his laptop.

Well, half of it.

And everything's too much then, because there were totally half a dozen lab reports on there, experiments he'd been almost ready to show everyone, experiments that could have change the world and fucking _hell_, they're _gone_, they're fucking _gone_, just like everything now, and it's just -

Logan's not ready for this. You don't _get. ready_. for this.

James and Carlos are up to their waists in the water having a light saber battle with their spears when Logan returns, and Kendall's nursing a tentative fire on the shore, announcing "I HAVE MADE FIRE!" to no one in particular in a booming Tom Hanks voice. They're all relatively oblivious to Logan's presence until he reaches shore, stomping his way over to camp, and he can feel the calm that settles as Carlos approaches him.

"Loges?"

"It's fucking _gone_, Carlos."

Not the best or most articulate introduction, but.

"...What's gone?" Carlos asks carefully, not bothering to hide the irony in his voice, because seriously, for the past month, sort of _everything_ has been gone.

"My fucking laptop," Logan hisses, spinning around.

"I - well - Loges, what did you expect?" he asks gently.

"Do you know what the fuck was on there? I - I just - "

"Yeah. Yeah, Logan, I know."

"Almost a whole fucking year's worth of stuff! That was my _life_!"

"Logan, I - I know."

By now James and Kendall have started approaching warily, trying to make themselves as invisible as possible, which, considering they're carrying spears with seaweed on the ends, probably counts as a fail.

"Everything, Litos - fucking _everything_."

"Dude, we - we all remember parts of it, I'm sure - "

"But we _lost_ it, Jesus, don't you get it? I worked for months on those fucking experiments!"

"So we can do more, you can perform them again - "

"With _what_? I don't have any fucking notebooks, I don't have _anything_ here, not a single fucking pen for Christ's sake!"

"Yeah I know, okay, but fucking hell, Logan, we're lucky to be alive and you're worrying about experiments?"

"That stuff_ is_ my life,Carlos!"

Carlos blinks, like he's trying to block out the moment or turn it back, and says quietly, "Your life is more than that. Or at least I thought it was."

And with one last meaningful look at Logan, he makes a grab with his spear-free hand for the pail they've been using for water, and heads into the forest.

"Carlos, I." And now he's talking to an empty space, and hello new levels of pathetic.

Logan's left with no choice but to turn and face the others, who are both watching him with careful, matching expressions that read, _don't worry, I'm not even going to try_.

Kendall looks down and quietly returns to his fire, and James quickly, unceremoniously squeezes Logan's hand before settling down on the blanket and picking up what remains of the plane's radio. Logan watches him for a moment, watches James shift his focus out of necessity for his own sanity, watches his fingers poke and prod and rearrange the pieces, setting some down in front of him while he works on others.

It's unfair that James still has something he can escape in. It's unfair that Kendall's somehow magically learned patience and reticence in the past month. It's unfair that Carlos is still Carlos and all Logan has are his own thoughts, his own memories to contend with.

Logan has the decency to give him a ten minute head start before taking off after him, and finds him at the waterfall, because apparently this is where they go when a storming-off is in order, and really, nobody wants to admit that they're hoping to be found sooner or later anyway, so going somewhere genuinely new is out of the question, really.

Even from a distance, Logan can see Carlos's posture is stiff and tight. He inclines his head just slightly to the left when Logan approaches, a simple acknowledgment, and Logan doesn't say a word before he steps up and wraps long, sun-warmed arms around Carlos's torso, feeling some of the immediate tension melt involuntarily from his body.

"You know you're my life," Logan whispers into his ear, and Carlos's hands come up to cover Logan's in response. "I didn't mean..."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

"Shh. Still love you."

"Love you too."

Carlos shifts in Logan's arms, and Logan releases him so they can see one another. "I'm sorry you lost your work."

Logan just shrugs and stares at his feet, because he doesn't want to lie and say it's okay, because it's not. He's devastated, and he doesn't know why it's taken all these weeks for him to realize, yeah, they've lost all that shit, but nonetheless, it fucking hurts.

"Listen, I..." Carlos starts. "Are you gonna tell me what's been going on?"

No, god, _no_, why does Carlos have to be so fucking _perceptive_, all the fucking _time_.

"I. I just."

"I mean," Carlos continues, "like, I don't mean this to come out the wrong way, but like... I know this whole thing sucks _ass_, but somehow the rest of us are managing to not let it kill us, because, y'know, we're together and we're alive and we're surviving, and that's kind of amazing. But you... you're just... Logan, I'm worried."

"It's. Guitar Dude. The day we..."

And fuck, it feels scary to say it out loud, even on such incoherent levels.

Carlos whispers, "I know."

"He - what?"

"I know what happened, Logan."

"Does - " Fuck, fuck. Okay. Fuck. "Does Kendall know?"

"I think... no, just me."

"Fuck. _Fuck_."

"Logan, it's - "

"Don't you dare tell me it's okay, Carlos."

"There was nothing - "

"Don't. Please. _Please_."

"Okay." Carlos sighs. "Are you ever going to tell Kendall?"

"I can't."

He figures he must sound resolute enough, because Carlos doesn't try to convince him otherwise.

There's scarcely any sun left by the time they start back, and Logan's starting to zone out from the quiet humming rhythm they're cloaked in, when a sudden sharp brush of foliage catches his ears, and Carlos, in all his superhuman reflexes, immediately shoots an arm out in front of Logan as protective instinct, halting in his tracks and staring hard into the brush.

Logan stops breathing when the sound gets louder; he can start to see the leaves rustling, and he knows there's only a flash of an instant before whatever it is comes into view.


	7. Chapter 7

_"Do you ever feel like we're the parents?"_

_James's head rotates lazily at the words, and he treats Carlos to one of his wide, content grins. Carlos has spent a solid year trying to pretend that grin doesn't favor him more often than anyone else, but it's getting futile; he can't be bothered with trying to deny it anymore._

_Especially when it warms his chest that way, every time._

_James turns back around, facing out into the open air, overlooking the endless expanse of forest that encircles the cabin they've rented for vacation in hopes of bringing back memories of home. Somewhere far off above the trees, across the wide sheet of sunset, a bird glides over the treetops and dips suddenly low, disappearing from sight._

_"Mind if I join you?"_

_James only smiles out at the sunset and says, "Get your parental ass up here, Garcia."_

_He climbs carefully out the bedroom window, finding his footing on the tiles of the roof, and settles into a spot beside James, their folded knees touching._

_"So," he smirks, eyeing Carlos sideways before taking another drag. "Who am I, the mom or the dad?"_

_Carlos sighs, resigned. "I think we both know you're the dad."_

_James grins, satisfied, and bumps Carlos's shoulder with his. "In that case, go clean up the kitchen."_

_"Suck my dick."_

_"I can't, fuckface, you're the mom."_

_They chuckle, and James rubs Carlos's shoulder as apology for Carlos's emasculation. Their fingers brush, and Carlos notes how James's are still warm, despite the slowly chilling air._

_On some floor in some room below, the faint noises of Kendall and Logan arguing still catch their ears ("Well I wouldn't **have **to remind you if you'd fucking **do **it"; "Well I wouldn't have to **do it** at all if you didn't have such a thorny, poison-ivy-infested stick up your ass twenty-four-seven"). They laugh, careful not to let their own voices carry as far as the ones below._

_"Logan used to joke that I was the mother he never had."_

_James turns to smile at him. "And what did you say?"_

_"I told him he was a dickhead, and to go clean his room."_

_James's laugh is clear and open, beautiful and sharp in the pure, open air like this - better, Carlos thinks, than it would be anywhere else, anywhere less clean, less organic. Carlos is maybe a little bit in love with the cabin; maybe has secret fantasies about them all living here together until they're old, departing only for recording and touring._

_"Litos."_

_"Mm."_

_"Don't take this the wrong way."_

_"Oh Jesus, what?"_

_"You're." James looks up to the sky to watch a soaring bird, "You're a really good mom."_

_Carlos waits, because he suspects there's more, and he wants time to build up a good bit of snark in response._

_"I just..." James goes on. "I see you with them, y'know... with all of us. The way you just sort of... take care of us . Keep us grounded. Keep us from wringing each other's necks. I don't fucking know what we'd do without you. You're kinda perfect, you know."_

_Carlos can almost feel the snark evaporating from his skin, vanishing above them into nothingness along with the smoke, and replaced with a hot blush rushing over his cheeks._

_"I. Thanks," he says roughly, his voice a little lost. "Honestly, I've... always kind of seen **you **as the savior."_

_James turns his head to smile, his eyes a little darker than Carlos had remembered; darker, warmer, brighter. Sweet and kind and everything to prove the words Carlos's just spoken._

_James shrugs. "I just tried out for something I wanted badly. Kendall's the one who got us here."_

_"James, you're fucking stupid."_

_"Um, dude, your insults? Seriously losing their edge."_

_"I'm serious. You're an idiot. You think you're here by accident?"_

_James shrugs, sheepish._

_"Dude, I._

_**You're **what the world wants. You were always what they wanted, even before - and - you'll always **be **what they want."_

_James smiles at his shoes. "Thanks."_

_Carlos smiles brighter, hoping it'll coax James's gaze back to him. "I - " He stops, head turning to spot a figure in the distance: Guitar Dude is nestled into a tree some twenty feet away, FILMING._

_"Oh my god," Carlos calls, laughing, "you're a fucking voyeur!"_

_"It's art," Guitar Dude smiles, still safely hidden behind his camera._

_"Your_

_momis art," James offers._

_"Why thank you, James Diamond."_

_Carlos picks up a little piece of bark nearby and tosses it at Guitar Dude, who just grins wider. "Don't you have a certain bubbly frontman you should be boning right about now?"_

_"I think I'll let them argue a little longer."_

_"Why's that?"_

_"...No reason."_

_"Oh come on."_

_"If you must know," Guitar Dude sighs a bit dramatically, "Ken fucks like a Greek god when he's pissed off."_

_"Oh my god, oh my god," Carlos gasps, wilting to the side and burying his face in James's shoulder. "Save me."_

_"You walked into it, mom," James smiles, ruffling his hair and pulling him closer._

_"Well you're my husband, you're supposed to protect me," he counters, voice muffled in the fabric of James's hoodie._

_"Fair enough. Go bang your pissy boyfriend, loser," James calls to Guitar Dude, grinning, and Carlos looks up to watch Guitar Dude climbing down the tree with no small amount of joy plastered across his face. "There, happy?"_

_Carlos lifts his head halfway, and freezes when he realizes how close his face is to James's, who's smiling warmly down at him. He swallows, inching away with a reluctance that's undeniable, probably physically evident, fuck._

_"Yeah," he says, a little shakily. "Yeah, I am."_

The arm Carlos's shot out across Logan's chest lowers, taking firm hold of Logan's wrist, flinching even now when he realizes Logan's shaking.

The words are tumbling around in his mouth, begging to escape, _It's okay, it's okay, I'm here_, because they're the words that have worked for years.

But he remembers, stuff - _everything_ - works differently here.

There's nothing to do but wait, really, and even as he tightens his grip on his spear, he knows it's next to pointless: fish, probably not equivalent to whatever the fuck is in those bushes.

The rustling is louder, and there's not even time to freak out properly because the automatic what-the-fuck factor sets in as - _it_ - tumbles out of the bushes.

That's all Carlos's mind is giving him; won't even let him wrap his head around the fact that a, seriously, _baby orangutan_ just fell out of the bushes and is like, ten feet away with no giant zoo-manufactured wall between them.

And. Okay. Points to the island for the never-ending shock value.

It's a baby of the truest kind; tiny and fumbling and falling all over itself; Carlos has absolutely no fucking clue how to estimate age in _An Orangutan_ (and seriously, it's just like that in his head, caps and italics and all), but he'd guess, maybe, a few days? Weeks? Who fucking knows, it's, yeah, it's _an orangutan_.

It's about then he meets Logan's eyes, which seem to be screaming much of the same vocabulary: orangutan, and oh my god, and what the fuck.

He tenses when he feels Logan start to move forward, and his arm stiffens, blocking him. "Don't," he whispers. "The mother's gotta be around somewhere."

"Well it's _in our way_."

"Well I'd rather have _it_ in our way than its three-hundred-pound _mom_, okay."

"Just, _hush_."

Christ, only he and Logan could possibly bicker in a moment like _this._

It's not long before Carlos discovers his plan to shut up and stop moving kind of isn't getting anyone anywhere, and when the baby starts crawling forward, clearly embracing the encounter with far fewer reservations than Carlos or Logan, it's all Carlos can do not to reach down and scoop it up.

Stupid James was fucking right, he _is_ the mom.

By this time Logan's ignoring him completely and stepping forward, past the flaming orange ball of fur on the ground and shoving aside branches and bushes, and Carlos is quick to follow, half-tripping over the animal on his way.

"Logan, wait - you - fucking - you fucking moron, Jesus." And okay, maybe not the most impressive expanse of vocabulary right now, but come on, Logan could probably get obliterated by an oversized _cat_, let alone whatever the fuck is beyond Carlos's line of vision.

"Litos."

The thickness of the brush completely eliminates any visibility and Carlos walks right into Logan's back, knocking them both forward half a step, and it takes him a second to refocus, to remind his pounding heart that he's just walked into _Logan_, not like, a tiger or something - and he sees.

His eyes follow Logan's, as easily as ever, to a sight that would fast have him reacquainted with his dinner if he'd had any yet. Sprawled lifeless on the ground is another, larger ball of fiery orange fur, limbs twisted in odd directions, half-dry blood matted in clumps all over what remains of its body.

"Holy shit," Logan croaks, trying to step backward and finding Carlos in his way.

"Logan."

"Fuck, Jesus, fucking shit, Litos, what - who would - how did - what would - "

He sounds so young like this, horrified and scared and outraged, voice high and cracking - and Carlos, working to regain the use of his body parts, manages to slip a hand around Logan's and squeeze hard. Logan doesn't do well with injured animals; it's the one and only reason he'd had to quit volunteering at the animal shelter.

"We need to go, Logan," he says, hoping the ominously flat tone of his voice is at least downplayed by how hard he's working to keep it steady, even-sounding.

"But - Litos, she - it's - what _did_ this?"

"I don't _know_, dude, but we have to get the _fuck_ out of here, okay, it could still be around - "

"But, the baby - "

"Dude, we have to _go_."

"We can't just leave it here!"

"It's not a fucking kitten, okay, it's a wild animal! There's probably like, the rest of its family somewhere. They'll find it."

"But what if they _don't_?"

"Well what are we gonna do, take it with us?!"

Logan finally tears his eyes away to meet Carlos's, and Carlos immediately realizes why: This kind of begging takes eye contact.

"Logan..." he warns.

But apparently this only encourages him, the little fucker; brown eyes wide and bright, growing wider and brighter, forehead creased, and he's barely got enough dignity not to stage a full-on Kendall pout, but he's still carrying that same pleading look he used to get when Carlos wanted pizza and Logan wanted Chinese and all Logan had to do was look at him like this and Carlos was gone.

Fucking _asshole._

"I hate you," Carlos mutters. Logan breaks into a small, grateful grin, and Carlos suddenly feels like Charles Grodin in _Beethoven_, throwing his hands up in defeat and still protesting weakly as squealing kids and puppy swarm around him. "Seriously, I hate you, so much."

"Whatever," Logan dismisses, but he's already working his way back through the plants, and Carlos follows, tries to insist, _no, seriously, I hate you_, but leaves are getting in his mouth when he tries to speak, and when he catches up with Logan, Logan's already got the thing propped in his arms and is trying to bounce it on his nonexistent hip.

"Give me that!" Carlos hisses. "It might bite."

"It's a baby!"

No, wait, James was totally wrong. _Logan's_ the freakin' mom.

"What, baby snakes don't bite? _Give_ me it."

Carlos's making pathetic grabby motions now, and Logan relents, evidently just satisfied that Carlos has given in this much, and Carlos takes it into his arms. It's fucking _weird_, nothing like he'd expect - it's lighter, and hairier, seems oddly proportioned and it's not soft, not in the least, with a mass of wiry fur prickling Carlos's skin as its scrawny, floppy arms encircle him helplessly. It kind of feels like he's holding Gollum, and he tells Logan so.

Logan smiles, the way he smiled at their first practice when Kendall was Gollum and everything was simple.

Well, _simpler_.

And Kendall, _fuck_. But Carlos is too busy thinking about what's in his arms to anticipate Kendall and James's reactions until he and Logan are climbing out of the mass of trees, stumbling back onto the sand, still warm beneath their feet from twelve hours of undivided attention from the sun. The sun's mostly retreated now, leaving the air open and bearable, and as they get closer to camp, Carlos can smell the hot, fresh smell of roasting fish that tells him they haven't got much time left before hell breaks loose.

He and Logan exchange raised eyebrows, breath taut in anticipation, and Carlos suddenly feels like he did the day he sat his parents down and said, _So, I'm bi _(because that's just how Logan told him to say it, direct and unashamed, and stupid Logan and his stupid advice, because Carlos's dad had just blinked and said "you're by what?" and thank god it all ended in laughter because his parents are _awesome_, but seriously).

When they're within seeing distance, it seems James is still busy skinning one of the fish, while Kendall has another skewered on the end of a stick, holding it out over the fire, as far away from his body as he can humanly manage, eyes squeezed shut and head turned to the side, face scrunched up in distress like someone's forcing him to torture a kitten, and_Jesus_, Carlos thinks. How does he _exist_, for real.

"You're such a tool," Logan calls to him, and Carlos knows they're just meaningless words to get Kendall's attention (still, meaningless or no, they have to be snarky since it's _Logan_), because everything else aside, this is going to be an amazing sight.

Kendall cracks an eye open hesitantly and the other one follows, both widening to saucers as a squeaky little "AH!" escapes him and he drops his stick, scrambling to his feet as sand flies everywhere in his path. James huffs his disapproval, oblivious to everything but the sparks that fly up from the campfire as the fish drops into it, sizzling in all the wrong ways, and Kendall's literally up and running by the time James leans forward to pry the stick out of the flames.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod," Kendall chants as he reaches them, and only then does James look up, because Kendall hasn't been this excited or in awe over something since like, April, when he marched into the liquor store on his birthday and bought his own stupid bottle of Absolut.

James makes some indeterminate noise of shock as well, setting aside all fish-related preoccupations (though with slightly more care than _some_ people), and starts trudging through the sand toward them.

"Don't touch him," Carlos snaps, hugging the infant a little closer. "He doesn't know you yet."

"Oh my god, you moron," Logan interjects. "We've had him like, all of fifteen minutes, he's not like, the fruit of your loins."

"Ew, what the fuck."

But Kendall is bouncing and has zero patience for bickering, especially bickering that doesn't even involve him. "Carlos Garcia. I want what's in your arms. And if you try to stop me I will take you out with your own spear and possibly stab your soul, too."

Carlos doesn't even feel the need to point out how empty this threat is, as Kendall's spearing skills or lack thereof have proven themselves well enough already. He looks warily at Logan for support.

"Let him," Logan sighs.

With extraordinarily blatant reluctance, Carlos shifts his arms and hands Kendall the baby, which seems to have little trouble adjusting and merely shifts his arms to clamp down around Kendall's neck instead of Carlos's. And no, Carlos is not jealous. At all.

And, okay, maybe when he sees the way Kendall's face lights up, in a way it hasn't since Guitar Dude's death... no. He really can't bring himself to be jealous.

He smiles at Logan, and Logan smiles back. Maybe this was the greatest plan _ever_.

"Well hello there, nugget," Kendall coos, bouncing it gently on his hip. "Hi. Hi! You are just precious, aren't you? You're a little puppy, aren't you? Look at you, you're just gorgeous."

"Dude, I'm sorry, but he's totally hideous," Carlos points out. "He looks like an alien."

Kendall glares at him. "Don't listen to him," he whispers into the furry little ear. The baby favors him with wide, attentive eyes. "Don't you listen to him, pumpkin loaf. You're beautiful. Yes you are. Yes you are!"

Logan mouths, _Pumpkin loaf?!_at Carlos and Carlos just gives him a look that says, in no uncertain terms, _Every last ounce of this was your idea_.

Meanwhile James has reached them and is smiling in that happy way he has, that sort of doublemint-gum-commercial happy, the kind of happy he gets when he's in front of the mirror, and reaches up a hand to scratch behind the baby's ear. It turns its head in acknowledgment, briefly opening its mouth and making a small, incoherent noise.

Kendall is still cooing equally incoherent nonsense.

"You're holding him wrong," Carlos announces, diving forward to adjust Kendall's hands.

"Dude, you haven't held a baby in like, fifteen years."

"Can I just say," James offers contemplatively. "I love how like, none of us are asking where the hell you guys got him or, why he's here, or like, how long is it gonna be before his mom bursts out of the trees and devours us all?"

And he says it all so calmly, tone in such stark contrast to the words themselves, that even Carlos has to smile.

"His mother's dead," Logan says softly. "We found her off the path, she's... I don't know, something attacked her."

"...What kind of something?" Kendall asks, eyes wide, all laughter and shine gone.

"I don't know," he offers quickly. "I - it's okay, it was gone. We're safe."

But he doesn't miss the darkness that flashes through James's eyes, the subtle, questioning look he gives Carlos when Kendall's returned to cooing and coddling, raving to Logan about how this is so much better than any zoo _ever_ and if he'd known there were _orangutans_ he totally would've asked the pilot to stop here anyway.

Carlos holds James's eyes for a second, but finally just shrugs, because hey, it's not like they're keeping any information secret; his guess as to the attacker is as good as anyone's. But still, only he and Logan actually _saw_ her, saw the damage, and maybe it wasn't like seeing one of their friends dead in the wreckage, but the deliberate, intentional _violence_ of it all made it, on some levels, almost as hard to see.

But it's hard to remember that, the danger and the uncertainty, the reality, always the fucking _reality_, why does reality always get so much god damned attention, so much fucking credibility? It's hard to be convinced it matters now, to think that any danger could be real, ever, with all of them around the campfire now, and Kendall so distracted that they even manage to persuade him to eat some fish, and James and Logan sharing our-band-is-nuts looks while Kendall and Carlos argue over parenting skills.

And with these three boys surrounding him, smiling and talking like they're back in the cabin, back in their tour bus, back in Logan's house sitting around the piano and belting drunken showtunes... it's almost like they've created, _are_ creating, their own reality, here. One that finally, finally fits them.

And Carlos is not about to let that go.

_When Kendall had called and asked if he could come over, Logan hadn't expected him to show up twenty seconds later, before Logan had even had a chance to throw on a t-shirt. He stands in the rain with a suitcase like it's nothing, not tense and fidgety like he's dying to get somewhere dry; but rather lethargic and resigned, like he's been standing outside for hours and, shit, he probably has. There's a cab speeding off in the distance behind him, its taillights a bright, twinkling red through the sheets of rain. It reminds Logan of Christmas, but something tells him this is going to be no holiday._

_"Jesus fuck, Kendall."_

_He pulls him inside and peels off his jacket, sweeping dripping hair out of his chilled, ashen face, and it's easy now, handing out touches when there's no one around to see, to **assume**; when Kendall's too shaken to take it the wrong way._

_"What the fuck? Why did you take a cab, I could've - "_

_"They kicked me out."_

_And there's no way Logan's going to shriek WHAT?!, because it's only barely a surprise; Kendall's family troubles had been no secret. Kendall constantly fought with his dad and his mom was powerless to stop it. Kendall's no good at keeping secrets; not because he's untrustworthy, but because his thoughts tend to be displayed in his face, in neon letters, with flashing lights around them. His emotions are as easily secluded as the Vegas strip._

_But something in the pit of Logan's stomach still drops, and he thinks it's maybe less from the words themselves than from the fear in Kendall's face. Fear isn't one of Kendall's dominant traits, and to see it manifested this intensely is almost physically painful._

_Logan's barely got his arms encircled around Kendall's frame before Kendall breaks, and Logan can feel hot tears on his bare shoulder mingling strangely with the cold rain tipping off the ends of Kendall's hair._

_Kendall doesn't smile once for a three days, and consequently neither does Logan, until Logan drags him out of the sofa bed in Carlos's basement one evening and says, "I'm taking you to the movies, and I'm going to stuff you with popcorn and candy and you're going to like it and you can't say no. The end."_

_Logan smiles then, if only at how out-of-character he sounds, and it's worth it, Kendall smiles back, and, wow. If only Logan had known how little it took to coax that smile back._

_He doesn't realize it hadn't been the offer of a seedy cineplex and treats of questionable nutritional value that had brought it out._

_It's because Logan smiled first._

It's worth it.

It's worth potentially having some unknown predator on their ass to come finish the job he'd started; it's worth it just to see Kendall smile the way he's smiling now. The way he's been smiling all week.

Logan worries about the selfishness of it, because just seeing Kendall like this lessens his guilt a bit, and that just makes him feel guilty in entirely new ways.

And then he thinks maybe he shouldn't think so much, because they kind of all have a child now and the others are sitting around at breakfast arguing about what to name it and this, this is what Logan wants to remember, nothing else.

"Come on, didn't you ever see _Monkey Trouble_?" Carlos insists. "It's perfect."

"Dude," James grins, "just because you had a crush on Thora Birch when you were like, nine."

"Who told you?!"

Logan suddenly wishes he were a turtle so he'd have a shell to crawl into. Carlos slaps him.

"Besides," James says, "I hate the Dodgers, if we're naming him after a baseball team, it's gonna be the Cubs."

"We're not naming him _Cubs_," Kendall sighs.

"I found him," Logan interjects, "so technically - "

"Logan, you're so five years old."

"Coming from Kendall Knight, that's rich."

Kendall narrows his eyes.

"I think we should figure out who or what he looks like, and name him after that," Carlos offers.

"Fine," Kendall agrees, looking pointedly at Logan. "Then we can name him Beau, after Logan's boyfriend."

"Shut the hell up, he's not my _boyfriend_!"

But Kendall and James and - Carlos, what the fuck, _Carlos_ - are already giggling, and hey, Carlos is supposed to be on Logan's side here.

"You're all losers," Logan huffs. "Beau used to be a _model_, you know."

"Yeah?" Kendall says, like they haven't all heard the Reasons Beau Is Awesome list like, okay, eighty thousand times already, Logan will even admit to it. "Did you rip out all his ads and jerk off to them every night?"

"Shut _up_!"

"He took you on a _date_, dude."

"It explains so much about you that you think karaoke _with__other people_ is a date, Kendall."

But Carlos and James seemed to have formed their own mockery team and are cackling furiously, falling over onto the blanket while their unnamed infant sits between them, making affectionate grabs at their t-shirts and hair.

"Sorry, man," Carlos says, catching his breath. "It was totally a date."

"I hate all of you."

"Fine, back to business," James says, pulling himself upright. "I vote for Abu."

"Abu?" Carlos inquires. "The guy from _The Simpsons_?"

"Oh my god," Kendall grins, mile-wide. "_Abu!_ James, you're amazing."

"More amazing than Beau?"

"Duh!"

Logan glares at everyone at once. He has magical eyes; he can totally do that. "Seriously, who's Abu?"

"From _Aladdin_!" Kendall sighs in exasperation. "Jesus, Logan. _Aladdin._ The soundtrack to my first date with James." He beams over at James, and James returns it tenfold.

Carlos smiles and raises his eyebrows at Logan, a silent question.

"Yeah, okay. Fine."

And that's worth it too, because not only does Kendall smile, he smiles at _Logan_. Which, sure, he's done a some ten million times in their lives, but it's that he smiles like they're not stranded on an island, like they haven't experienced the deaths of some of their closest friends, like life isn't a daily gamble for survival and they have no idea when or if they'll ever be found.

It's not a constant, not by a long shot. Logan will still wake up in the middle of the night at least twice a week to find Kendall at the water's edge, his face bathed in moonlight. Sometimes a jagged wet line will run down his cheek; sometimes not. But Logan can come up behind him, rubbing warm friction into his bare shoulders, and whisper, "Come back to bed," and he will, and they don't have to talk about it.

It's better this way, now, with Abu. It gives them something to focus on other than all the shit they're trying not to focus on; it gives them a solid reason to get up in the morning, for the times they forget they have reasons at all. Abu's tiny and helpless and he needs them to fetch him coconut milk and stuff, because that's about all he can eat. But even Logan can't bring himself to complain, because having this thing to take care of, who needs them, who depends on them, it's better. It's better than just looking out for themselves, and that's weird for Logan, because he's always been too focused on his own thing to worry about trying to take care of anyone else.

Carlos and Kendall take to their "child" like a cat to milk, clearly fighting for the maternal role, though if Logan ever called either of them on it, he'd probably end up with a face full of sand. James is so obviously the awesome dad who lets Abu get away with all kinds of shit he probably shouldn't, but Logan can tell there's something missing; there's something that's not enough for James in this, and Logan's not sure what it is, only that he knows it's there because he feels it himself, too.

Sometimes he'll see James set aside the radio and run a finger across Jett's phone, not really touching, not holding, more like he's trying to read it, trying to get it to talk to him - and Logan thinks, it probably has something to do with that. Something, too, to do with the way his own fingers will itch throughout the day, start twitching and he can't seem to keep them still (and suddenly, Kendall as a whole is worlds easier to understand), and he'll miss his guitar so much he can barely breathe.

But it's one of those things that's easy enough to forget, now, now that there's so much else to worry about. One of those things they kind of _have_ to forget, if they expect to make it.

And finally, for the first time, Logan does.

After dinner, with the sated smell of grilled fish and burnt bark still heavy and warm in the air, Logan remembers why, when he thinks of the word _family_, the three people around him come to mind before anyone else.

"I found them at the bottom of a suitcase. And. There was a tiny bit of pencil left too, so, I started making a map of the island and then I realized I'm a total dumbass and you could be, like, writing down information or something, so."

Kendall sticks his arm out, and Logan takes two folded sheets of notebook paper and a stubby little pencil butt from his hand. The lead tip is blunted, worn down and on its last leg, and the eraser's all but used up, but the feeling of it in Logan's hand makes his heart kind of soar.

At least, he thinks that's what does it.

Kendall's staring at the ground, stealing glances up at Logan every couple seconds, waiting for approval, and Logan suddenly wants to give him so much more than that.

He reaches up, closing his fingers around Kendall's and pulling him down to sit beside him until their knees knock together. He leans in, plants a kiss on Kendall's cheek, and ignores the look Carlos gives James while he's bouncing Abu in his lap.

"Thanks," Logan says softly.

"Um. Yeah. Of course. Yeah."

"You know what I think we should do with these? I think we should write a note on one and send it out in a water bottle."

"Seriously," Carlos agrees.

"And the other?" James asks, looking directly at Logan, evidently impressed that the page isn't half-filled with Logan's words already.

Logan smiles. "I think Kendall should finish his map."

"Why do I have a bird on top of my head?"

"That's a fauxhawk, dickface."

"I haven't had that in like, two years, you freak."

Kendall gives a longsuffering sigh, tapping emphatically at his stick figures. "I'm depicting all of us at our best."

"The hell's wrong with my hair now?"

"Where to begin," Carlos mumbles from where he's wrestling coconut shells away from Abu. James snorts and shuffles over, plopping down on his knees and peering at the map as Kendall leans away, eager for the audience.

"Why am I holding a fish roughly the size of my body mass?"

"It will happen, James Diamond. It will happen."

"My stick-figure's spear is like, the size of a tree, so," Carlos points out.

"And why are you _naked_?" Logan demands, pointing at the oversized phallus between stick-figure Kendall's legs.

Kendall grins, wicked and calculating. "I told you, I'm drawing us all at our best."

James cackles, and even Carlos can't hide a grin.

"These are the cliffs," Kendall continues, pointing to various points of interest on his map, "and here's the best spot for fishing, per Carlos, and here's the waterfall, and here's a shortcut but I wouldn't recommend it because there are like, eight billion mosquito things. Oh! And I've devised a list of camp rules."

"Oh my _god_," Logan says helplessly to himself. "I don't even - "

But Carlos has taken up interest, snatching up the map and flipping it over to the list of rules on the opposite side as he begins to read: "'No chicks at camp.'"

James laughs, and Logan rolls his eyes.

"'Don't know, don't eat' - very good rule, Kendall."

"Gimme that." Logan reaches up and snatches the list away, eyes moving over the page. "'Only speak when holding the... what?"

James excitedly heads over, scanning the paper. "Conch!"

"The what?" Carlos echoes.

James beams at Kendall. "_Lord of the Flies_, dude."

"Hell yes!" Kendall high-fives him.

Logan is still staring at the page, forehead creased to its limit. "That looks like 'crotch'."

Kendall's eyes darken, his eyebrows slipping upward. "It could be, it you want."

Logan rolls his eyes and turns away fast enough, a precaution. He's probably sunburned (or tanned, he'd like to think) enough to hide any blush, but it's not worth the risk.

"No, James is starting on tenor, I'm alto."

"Why do I have to be soprano?"

"Because you _do_, Kendall."

Kendall sighs, and Abu squeaks sympathy from his lap. "Do I need to bust into songto remind you that I am more than capable of - "

"I think," Carlos says, smirking carefully at Logan, "what Logan means is that his pussy little back-up voice can't handle those notes."

"Thank you, Carlos." Logan's voice couldn't be flatter if it were a pancake run over by an eighteen-wheeler.

"_Hello darkness, my old friend_," James starts softly, placing the hapless radio aside, and all bets are off - or at least all feuds, and it's like clockwork the way they chime in, "_I've come to talk with you again_," and if anyone were listening, the way they fall into four-part harmony as effortlessly as falling into bed would be enough to betray them as artists, as professionals; undeniably as band mates.

And maybe something else. Something more.

The day Logan finds the remains of James's camera in the wreckage is the day Kendall nearly loses an eye in an epic match of coconut football, and Logan's hopes to properly present it to James get lost in the madness.

Coconut football is like the rugby of football, vicious and relentless, because, true fact, coconuts are like fucking _rocks_, and all four of them (even Logan) play dirty: tackle, not tag, and sand can only cushion so far, especially when the game gets so involved that you forget where your goals are and end up in the hard, slick sand at the water's edge, and James's running toward you, arms stretched out zombie-like in desperation, and suddenly Logan dive-bombs you ninja-style out of _nowhere_, and you end up on your face in the surf with a pointy shell striking half an inch from your eyeball.

But Kendall loves it, the length and depth of the cut, the way it just won't stop _bleeding_ ("_So_ awesome, seriously!") and his only complaint is that he doesn't have a mirror to admire it. Logan feels guilty as fuck, and spends a good while trying to dab vodka on it, but he's too nervous and his fingers keep shaking and almost finishing off the eye altogether, so Carlos patiently takes over, with Kendall eagerly lapping up the excess vodka that trickles down to his mouth.

It's worth it to watch them, with Abu trying to help, and Carlos bitching at Kendall to stay still. Kendall looks... well, good, like this. He just. He looks _good_, all tanned and scruffy, with sand scrapes from the game, random bruises and a patch of dirt on one shoulder. He doesn't look anything like what Logan remembers his lead singer to look like, and that just reminds him of how much Kendall hasn't had to do much lead singing lately, nor has Logan.

And it kind of just brings it all back.

But it jogs his memory of what he'd planned, and he digs out his findings from earlier, presenting the camera to James.

"I..." he starts unsteadily. "We're both artists here. I know what it's like, not being able to create. I get it."

James smiles, and yeah, it's worth it.

The next morning James disappears for two hours, and that night after dinner, with Kendall and Carlos arguing over duties, James crawls over to Logan and offers his hand.

Logan takes it without question, and that somehow feels meaningful.

James smiles. "Let's let the girls clean up tonight. I have something to show you."


	8. Chapter 8

_Logan can't tell what James's target is from this distance, or even as he approaches. The lens hiding James's face is pointed across the small field outside the venue at a group of fans hanging idly around the bus, but the bus is too far away to tell who's there. Too far away to get a shot, Logan thinks, but James has got a bit of a love affair going with the zoom lens lately, a month after deciding to become an "artiste," snapping far-off shots when no one notices._

_Logan's quiet, not wanting to interrupt, so it's ironic when James's voice makes him jump._

_"I'm not firing a rifle here, man," he says without turning. "You can talk."_

_James twists his head around to smile before turning back to the lens, and Logan returns the smile, stepping forward to where James's tripod is nestled in a patch of dandelions._

_"Who're you stalking?"_

_James doesn't answer, simply steps away from the camera and gestures for Logan to take his place. When he does, he feels the heat of James's body behind his, arms closing around him to shift the camera half an inch to the left and adjust the focus._

_"Anything yet?"_

_"Still blurry," Logan answers, squinting his one open eye.  
_  
_James shifts behind him, hands back on the lens, and suddenly everything's clear. It's Carlos, jumping excitedly as he sees a vendor with a corndog.  
_  
_"He is so twelve years old," Logan observes.  
_  
_"Yeah, but." James reaches the lens again, zooming in a bit further. "Look at him. I know it sounds gay but seriously, isn't he beautiful?"  
_  
_"Well. Yeah. Obviously."  
_  
_Fuck, it's hot outside for May.  
_  
_"I mean," James went on, "even if it's like a hundred degrees out and he's been playing hockey all day and he's nasty and sweaty and his hair's all scraggly, he still manages to look like he just stepped off a cloud somewhere and forgot his harp, you know?"  
_  
_Logan laughs, pulling back from the camera, because, seriously, this was going to earn an expression he didn't want to miss: "Did you just call Carlos Garcia an angel?"  
_  
_"Dude, shut __up__. I'm being artistic."  
_  
_But James is smirking, his I-know-it's-BS-but-I'm-gonna-milk-it-anyway smirk. Logan's favorite.  
_  
_"I'm telling."  
_  
_James shakes his head. "Who's twelve now?"  
_  
_"Uh, still Garcia."  
_  
_James smiles, snatching his camera from the tripod and aiming it straight at Logan.  
_  
_"Dude. __No. __I'm. No. I just got out of the shower, my hair's - "_

_"Shut up, Mitchell." And even behind the mask of the camera, Logan can hear his smile. "If I were you I'd be more worried about your Super Mario t-shirt."_

_"It's Kendall's!"  
_  
_"Even better, 'cause everyone'll know that."  
_  
_"Dude, if you post this on your blog - "  
_  
_And it works, somehow, the simple stupidity of it, because Logan's cracking up (hey now, Logan totally laughs at stupid shit sometimes too, okay), and the moment his smile breaks out, he hears the shutter click, and James lowers the camera to reveal a grin even more devilish than Logan had pictured. He sighs.  
_  
_"You're good, Diamond."  
_  
_"Thank you, thank you." He mimes a dramatic bow.  
_  
_"Gimme," Logan demands, holding out a hand.  
_  
_"Um, no."  
_  
_"I want to learn."  
_  
_"No, you want to get even."  
_  
_Logan smiles. "Yeah. But I want to learn, too."  
_  
_"Fine. Not on me."  
_  
_"Fine."  
_  
_He shrugs, handing Logan the camera, and Logan has a moment of suspicion, thinking that was far too easy, but dismisses it in light of stealth and immediately snaps a shot of James.  
_  
_"Ha!"  
_  
_"...Congrats. Did you take off the lens cap?"  
_  
_Logan inspects the object in his hand. "Shit."  
_  
_James chuckles low and triumphant, taking the camera back. "You'd be good, though, y'know. If you really wanted to learn. Cameras are... easy to hide behind. Like books."  
_  
_Logan nods, turning back to the scene across the field where Kendall is now attempting to arm-wrestle one of the techs (epic fail). "And what are you hiding from?"  
_  
_Out of the corner of his eye, he sees James shrug. "I don't know yet. Maybe myself?"  
_  
_Their eyes meet, and Logan smiles. "So emo, man. __So __emo."  
_  
_James rolls his eyes, grinning back. "Whatever. What else do we ever really hide from?"  
_  
_It's a good question, Logan thinks, not that he can answer it, because it's true.  
_  
_"Couldn't even start a list, man," Logan smiles. "Been hiding my whole life, probably."  
_  
_James shakes his head slowly, not contradicting but wistful. "Don't."  
_  
_Logan chuckles. "Why's that?"  
_  
_"I..." He stares at the ground, and back up to meet Logan's eyes, but his own are uncertain. "Lemme get back to you on that one," he offers, softening the answer with a smile.  
_  
_Logan says nothing, because he's not sure he wants the follow-up anyway.  
_  
_A week later he finds an unmarked envelope on his bunk pillow. Inside is a striking black-and-white photo of himself in a field, laughing, reckless and genuine, his Super Mario t-shirt set into dark contrast from the angle of the sun. On the back is a splash of words written in Sharpie:  
_  
_**if the angels hid, where would that leave the rest of us?**_

So Logan has this kind of weird disease that gives him the longsuffering patience of an eighty-year-old. James suspects it was born out of necessity from years of living with Kendall Knight.

Come to think of it, Logan has quite a few qualities that tend to age him half a century. His over-the-top gentlemanliness with women, okay, not that that's a bad thing, it's just funny. His fashion sense this past year, Jesus. No words. It's been nice lately, seeing him wander around in boxers and v-neck tees (shut up, not like _that_, it's just, James could only take so much of cardigans), and now that his hair's growing out, he's actually started _not_ looking forty again.

There's one thing, though, that's sure to break down his patience, turn him into a five-year-old, a five-year-old on _crack_ - and that would be secrets.

"Come on, tell me."

"You hush."

"Ja-ames."

"Log-_an_."

"Please?"

"Dude, it's not, it's nothing, really. Just because I'm not telling you doesn't mean it's like, huge and amazing."

"Your _cock_ is huge and amazing."

"_Logan_!"

James recoils a couple steps despite the laughter manifest in his features, like Logan just stepped so far out of character that it might be contagious. Logan's giving him a wicked, wicked look. It's just, it's _wicked_, is what it is. Wicked and all predatory-like, no shame whatsoever.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," James says, nose tipped upward in pride of his own willpower (and maybe of his cock, which totally _is_ huge and amazing).

"Just tell me!"

"Shut up, we'll be there in five minutes!"

Logan makes a whiny, dissatisfied noise, and hangs on James's arm the entire remainder of the way (apparently the island is magic, and he and Kendall have switched bodies), which makes pushing aside branches and leaves really difficult, yeah thanks Logan, because James's other arm is gripped tight around the middle of the torch he'd set alight before they'd left camp (and along with it, the ever so relaxing, ambient sounds of Kendall and Carlos fighting over what _precise_ amount of sand is tolerable to sleep with on the blanket.)

It'd taken a week for the torches, a fucking _week_. Four days to find the right kind of plant and bark that would actually take the fire and hold it on the end of the leaves instead of burning the entire thing to an ashy crisp right in their hands; and another three days to figure out how the hell to make it last, what kind of substances to add to keep it from burning out.

A week of toil, and about fifteen hours to start taking it for granted as much as electricity. But hey. Torches. They have _torches_. (Not to mention about eight new _Torchwood_ jokes courtesy of Kendall.)

James's heart doesn't start doing flippy things until he senses they're about twenty feet away, and he starts to freak a little because, seriously, this is all kind of ridiculous, it really _isn't_ anything special, it's not what Logan wants or needs, it's a pathetic, poor substitute, and he's built it up when all it's going to be is a disappointment - and, knowing Logan, that might upset him even more. Because it's Logan, and shit can just, _do_ that.

But it's too late now, so he just frantically starts to backpedal as he takes Logan the last few meters, leading him carefully through the thick brush just before the clearing. "So, okay, it's not - like, I mean. I know it's not the same, but I just figured... y'know, maybe it's something. Like, it's better than nothing, you know? And - "

And that's all he gets; the obstructions of branches and leaves disappear and they're standing in the pebble-floored clearing surrounding James's suddenly less than epic discovery. There's some sun left, not much, enough to add a wide, lazy shading to the stone walls and patches of dusty yellow to the ground; too much light left for romance, not enough left to make any more of the day. It's that moment of the day when it's all or nothing, no more chances to take, only time to react to the ones we've taken.

James hopes he's taken the right ones.

Logan takes in the scene the way he takes in everything, calm and open and absorbing, trying to extract as much from it as he can for whatever purpose it might offer, and James kind of just waits for nothing in particular.

"Oh my god."

"Yeah, I - oh." And it's then, as Logan's eyes scan over the array of cave entrances scattered about the area, that James remembers, yeah, Jesus, there _is_ a point to this. "Oh - okay, no, it's not just - wait, come here."

He leads him forward, toward the mouth of the closest cave, and takes a few steps inside. His hand releases Logan's as he leans over, brushing across the dark ground and closing around the first item he finds, its texture and size familiar from this morning.

"See, watch." He transfers the blackened stone to his right hand and holds the torch up to the dull gray wall of the cave, the surface largely even but set into relief with raised sheets of stone spread about, with occasional unpredictable bumps and dents. Pressing the stone against a smooth portion, he drags it down a few inches, the soft grating noise like a sandpapery chalkboard, and steps back, hoping this can all start speaking for its own damn self.

Logan stares at the black line running down the wall, and back to James.

And it really sucks when Logan gets all quiet and attentive like this, because you never know what emotion is behind that blank, open-mouthed face as it soaks everything in, evaluating and calculating.

"You, um. You can write," James points out, earning himself the Captain Obvious hat for the evening, undisputed. "I mean, it's not paper, but. It's something. Y'know? And it'll stay, 'cause it's out of the rain. So, you could always copy it to paper later. And these things are like, hella deep - " James rotates on the spot, gesturing broadly around and back into the black depths. "So you can write all you want. And so far nothing's like, tried to jump out and eat me, so..."

Logan's still staring at him. And okay, maybe this was the dumbest thing ever and in about two seconds Logan's going to start crying and take off because this just reminds him of everything he _doesn't_ have now and honestly, James, what were you _thinking_.

"It's just - " He keeps his eyes on Logan's now, trying to read him the way only Carlos can (not that this is the time to be so presumptuous, but he's a little desperate). "I - I've seen you writing in the sand sometimes, and... I know that's kind of pointless because of, like, the tide, and also we have like, daily friggin' _monsoons_, so I just thought, this is maybe a little more, uh... permanent... y'know, and..."

And, nothing, because Logan's flung himself at James, arms wire-tight around James's torso, and James can feel the day's heat radiating off Logan's body through the thin t-shirt, the heat and the stress and toil, and James's just so glad to see it _leaving _Logan's body that he's more than happy to take it onto himself if need be - and god, Logan's so _tiny_, and it's maybe been awhile since James has had him in his arms like this, maybe so long that he'd forgotten.

It's just protective instinct, really, that his torch-free arm lifts of its own doing to hold Logan in place, palm flat and firm against Logan's bony back, so small James figures his splayed hand is probably covering about half of it. He can feel the muscles in Logan's shoulders work as Logan takes the return of affection as indication to squeeze tigther, and he feels something hot and fluttery clench in his chest when Logan turns his head into James's neck.

"Thank you," he whispers.

James's sure he feels a sudden gush of air sweep through the cave then, and that's why he shudders, it's nothing to do with the way Logan's warm, humid breath feels against the sensitive curve of his neck, or the tiny brush of Logan's lips against his skin as he'd spoken.

Logan pulls back, fast enough when he remembers he doesn't show affection this way when he can help it; but slow enough not to make it obvious what he's doing. James simply smiles at the ground, because Logan is fucking precious like this, torn between how much vulnerability he's willing to put on display. Pitiful, but precious.

"Look at me, asshole," Logan says, the smile clear in his voice. James does, and the smile widens. "Thank you."

James nods awkwardly, shuffling his feet into the bed of blackened stones strewn below. "So, this is... good?"

The smile widens a little more, then drops as Logan shifts his concentration, reaching forward to pry the small stone from James's hand and hold it to the wall. James hears the faint scratching at work, and when Logan steps back, a messy little smiley place has filled the patch of gray stone.

"Dork," James grins.

Logan smiles and turns back to the wall. Through the torch's undulating flickers, James can make out a quick, rough scrawl, smaller and more precise than letters. Logan's fingers look longer in this kind of light, stronger too, assured and glowing. He's writing with a purpose. Hell, he's _writing_. James hasn't seen it in months. It's beautiful.

When he's done, James can make out about a dozen notes, five messily drawn bar lines, and one little flat up front beside the treble clef: Logan's favorite key, D minor. James's heart soars. It must show in his face, because if Logan's is any indication, it's contagious.

"It's been in my head a few weeks." Even as he says it, the search for approval rings clear in his voice, even after so many years, so many awards, so many millions of albums sold: still all that really matters to Logan is whether his band, his _family_, think it's worth anything.

James traces a finger below the bars, across the four measures, playing the notes out in his head. "It's beautiful."

Logan smiles at the ground, evidently too taken too respond.

James's still running over the melody again in his mind, studying the line to make sure he hasn't missed a beat, a note, and he isn't expecting it when Logan says suddenly, "It's not fair."

And, hey, the optimism could only have lasted for so long. James's thrilled to have gotten even a smile out of him.

"I know," he agrees softly.

"No," Logan says, voice firmer. "I mean, to you. It's not fair, now I have this and you..."

James doesn't know what to say because, it's true. It's not fair. He doesn't have his camera, or his mirror, and Kendall doesn't have his piano or his eighty-four hundred other instruments, and Carlos doesn't have his helmet, and they're alone on an _island_, okay, and no, it's not fair.

He shrugs. "I know."

Logan takes James's hand and leads them back into daylight (it sounds oddly metaphorical, James thinks), and the few minutes they'd spent away from it have diminished the contrast of light; the sun's almost gone, just there enough to shift the shadows from the walls to their faces, animating them, manipulating them, without permission. It would be dark enough, now, for romance.

Logan slips down the wall of the cave opening, legs neatly folded Indian-style, and plucks a familiar variety of nut from the ground, working blunt fingernails over the shell. The v-neck of his shirt droops open as he hunches over a bit, revealing a larger triangle of tanned skin, and. Tanned. _Logan_. James's brain goes _Haha_, but luckily restricts his throat from voicing it. Besides, it looks good on him. Weird, but good.

James sits beside him, watching him work open the nut.

Logan asks suddenly, face contorted in nut-focused concentration, "Have you ever tried drawing?"

"I... not really? I don't think so?"

The nut bursts open, bits of shell shooting out unenthusiastically. Logan pops it into his mouth, rolling it around on his tongue, and looks up at James. "You should."

James smiles. "Why's that?"

"It's close to photography."

James shrugs. "I guess. I mean, it's a completely different art form, it uses totally different parts of the brain, like, I could be a great photographer but totally suck at drawing."

"Yeah, but." Logan works open a second nut, handing it to James. "It's about the images, right? It's about capturing what you see. You need that. You need to be able to immortalize things that way."

James kind of doesn't know what to say, because no non-photographer has ever _gotten_ that before.

"I. Yeah." He smiles a bit. "You're good."

Logan smiles back, slouching and dropping his head back against the cool stone wall, face inclined to James. Behind him, huge leaves splay out from the base of a purplish plant. It looks amazing set beside Logan's light blue shirt, the golden line of his neck, the wide pupils sharp in his eyes, black as the Armani frames setting them each off in rectangles, two matching portraits (and, god, if anyone's eyes are striking enough to demand their own portraits...). James's thinking, before he can stop himself, of how it would all look in the darkroom, coming to life against the wet, glossy page, red light distorting the spectrum of contrasts and shades he eagerly awaits. Logan's hair's getting longer too, just starting to fall into his eyes again, waving unevenly a bit the way Logan hates, but James thinks it's perfect. It's messy, unpredictable and uncontrolled, everything Logan's not. He thinks Logan needs that, if even this is its only manifestation.

Logan's looking at him like he's waiting for James to say something, say more.

James says, "I bought Jett his first camera," and he doesn't know why. Logan's eyes soften, and he reaches up to brush away a newly curling strand of hair. "He asked me time and time again why I liked taking pictures so much, rather than being _in _them. He needed a break from the frustrations of modeling and always trying to look his best. So I bought him a really nice Nikon. He took it downtown for an hour and sent me a text message that said, 'I love you forever and ever.'"

It's not even the words leaving his lips, but the feeling of Logan's hand as it crawls over to James's, reminding him of what he's saying, that makes the sting creep into his eyes.

"James," Logan whispers.

James can't speak over the lump in his throat.

"Fuck, fuck, come here." Logan pulls at him awkwardly until James just sort of flops over into Logan's lap, head pillowed on Logan's narrow thigh. Logan strokes through his hair, stopping to massage at all the best parts of his head, not trying to say anything. It's like Jett, James can't stop himself from thinking. The way James could just drape himself across Jett when he needed something, someone (_Jett_), to touch, and Jett wouldn't try to pry out what was wrong or get him to talk. He'd just sit there and touch him, just like James needed.

A tear tickles James's cheek as it snakes down, pooling onto Logan's leg, but if Logan minds, he doesn't say so.

"'M sorry," James says when he sits up.

"Shut up," Logan breathes out in a sigh, smushing himself up against James's side and dropping his head to his shoulder. "You don't have anything to be sorry for."

"Neither do you, but you've been acting like you're responsible for the 2004 election since we got here."

James doesn't feel Logan's lips curl against his shoulder as he'd anticipated, and he knows. He doesn't know what; he just knows this is more than what he knows. More than Logan's going to tell him, that's for damn sure.

"It's complicated," Logan says.

"_You're_ complicated," James counters gently.

"Your _band's_ complicated."

"It's_your_ band, asshole."

"_Our_ band." Logan lifts his head, smiling soft and careful. "I'm glad it happened."

And that... James knows that. He can see it in the way Logan looks at him after a show in front of thousands of fans when they all sing the words back to them. But still, hearing the words and knowing that his dreams didn't mess up his friends lives. Words are Logan's everything, and he doesn't choose or speak them carelessly.

But there seems to be little need for them, for any words at all, as they make their way back to camp, occasionally hand-in-hand as they work through especially dense patches of forest. It's nearly completely dark by the time they catch sight of the orange splotch of campfire, and James finds himself thinking, most strangely, _home_.

He douses the torch at sight of the campfire because, seriously, these things are heavier than the movies make them out to be. As they grow closer, James can see Abu curled up between Kendall and Carlos's feet. They're angled away, Carlos propped against the palm tree behind the blanket, knees bent but spread, and Kendall's balled up between them, hands clutching Carlos's shirt. Carlos has got his arms wrapped fully around Kendall's round, tiny little mass, making him appear even smaller. Kendall's not crying, not from what James can tell, not anymore at least - but James swears he can make out the words, "I miss him," in Kendall's voice - the small, crushed voice he only uses when he's depressed. Carlos whispers, "I know, Ken," into the soft crown of Kendall's head, and James aches inside.

When James turns to Logan, Logan's face is ashen, devastated, and James finally thinks, maybe, _It's complicated_ wasn't just an easy out this time.

Logan is still ashen and devastated by morning, only now Kendall can see it, too.

They're used to it now, all of them, the way Logan Gets Quiet, and it should get easier, but it doesn't. At least, not for Kendall. He always feels like he's the one who sets it off, and no, no, he's _not_ irrational, because every time he says something or does something that implies he's not okay, Logan changes.

It's not his imagination. Kendall's not prone to imagining the worst, let alone to imagine he could have that much impact on Logan's emotional state. Logan's spent a good many years trying to ignore him much of the time, after all.

That doesn't make it easier now, though.

Especially because this isn't _ignoring_, this is - this is worse. Kendall's not the focus. When Logan sets off, it affects everyone, and, way to just rack up Kendall's guilt a few more notches, for Christ's sake.

He can't fault Logan, because. Because clearly Kendall's the one causing it. And because it's Logan, and he's inherently _tortured_. Because all those years he was supposed to be getting love from his parents, he wasn't. Because... because.

He can't fault Logan because he loves him.

Amazing how simple it sounds, and how simple it isn't.

That afternoon Kendall does his least favorite thing and swims out to the wreckage, which is now a detached, swimming pile of useless shit. There are parts of the plane still vaguely intact, parts that are basically impossible to get to or at least fucking dangerous to try, which is why no one has tried.

Kendall tries.

He doesn't know what he's looking for, only that he feels some kind of out-of-body force pushing him forward. It could also be sunstroke or a bad round of fish the night before, but he's pretty sure it's something more, because when he slices his left shoulder on a sharp piece of metal that he thinks was once part of a wing, he barely feels it. All that's in his head, running through his blood, is, _more_. There's something here, something more, something that's making his ears buzz and his fingers tingle. It doesn't end there, not even when his right wrist catches on a piece of glass, or when he loses his footing, slips down into the water, and his cheek collides with some unidentifiable sharpness, the saltwater intensifying the sting. There's blood when he reaches his fingers up to test the damage, but his mind is elsewhere now.

His mind, his body, eyes and heartbeat, are all centered on the broken-off section of the luggage rack, floating open and idle, with a black guitar case perched inside.

It takes forty-five minutes to get it out of the wreckage intact, avoiding the water all all costs (costs including another slice across his chest from god only knows what), and by the time he reaches the beach, he dumps it onto the sand, dragging himself the twenty feet back to camp. James and Carlos are oblivious, busy re-leafing and re-vining their shelter and exchanging surprisingly strong-willed opinions on pancake preferences.

Logan's working on a spear, and he spots Kendall first, dropping his tools like bombs and scrambling through the sand with no grace whatsoever.

"Fucking shit, what the fuck happened?"

"I'm okay," Kendall assures, his breathlessness betraying him.

"You idiot, you're bleeding from like, everywhere!" Logan's hands are all over him, cradling the uninjured parts while his eyes inspect the wounds. "Are you okay? What did you do? You're so stupid, what the fuck did you do?"

"Fine. Just. Ran into some stuff."

"Come here, asshole." Logan pulls him close, inspecting the particularly nasty gash across his left cheek, and it barely hurts anymore, but it must look like hell because Logan's face has gone all creasy and frowny, and, god, he's so close Kendall can feel his breath, and. Yeah. Definitely doesn't hurt anymore.

"What'd you do?" Logan asks again, more softly, his eyes gentle.

"I, uh." Kendall takes a moment, catching his breath, trying to convince himself he's not just stalling, because the moment Logan spots what's behind him, his hands will vanish from Kendall's skin and that's really going to suck and, okay, sometimes Kendall is still sixteen. "Got you a present," he finishes, jerking a thumb weakly behind him.

Logan's sudden onset of hyperactivity send his eyes jolting in the direction of the guitar case, and Kendall watches his face, not knowing, even after nearly six years, what to expect.

Logan doesn't tear off down the beach. He doesn't even withdraw his touch. His hand on Kendall's shoulder, the other cupped around his chin to hold his head in place while he'd inspected the wound - they both stay, still setting Kendall's skin on fire everywhere they make contact.

And Logan's eyes - and this is the best part - they're back. They're back on him, and Logan's looking at him like Kendall just proposed marriage.

Like Kendall just proposed marriage and Logan's _happy_ about it.

"Ken."

Kendall doesn't speak. Even if he had words, he knows they're not needed. Logan just keeps staring into his eyes, his own darting between Kendall's with the utmost attention, like he's waiting for words to radiate from them.

"How - how did you."

Kendall shrugs, smiling a bit. "I had to slit a few throats, but I got it."

Logan swallows, and the sort of shock-cum-bewilderment on his face almost makes Kendall laugh. "Did you just quote _Aladdin_ at me?"

"Um. Yeah."

"Did you _find_ my _acoustic_?"

"Affirmative."

"Is it - did it get wet?"

"Negative."

"Oh my _god_, Kendall."

Logan's fully wrapped around him then, holding him as close and tight as he dares with the widespread array of wounds, but Kendall doesn't care. They don't fucking hurt, and Logan's bare chest is pressed up against his, Logan's face in his neck, arms holding him like he might disappear any second, and it's the most amazing thing he's felt, maybe ever, and he's seriously not going to be able to stand up much longer, because, legs, and, jelly, and, _Logan_, and, _fuck_.

"I love you," Logan's whispering. "God, fuck, I love you so much."

"I love you too."

It's oddly, surprisingly hard to say, considering how intensely he means it.

Logan finally lets him go, wincing apologies for carelessness in his embrace, and Kendall can only smile, tell him it doesn't matter. Logan's still holding both his hands, watching his face, almost like he's waiting for Kendall's permission to let go of him, to go after what Kendall knows he really wants.

He squeezes Logan's hand. "Go get it, dumbass, I'm not lugging that thing another foot."

After dinner, Logan plays Fall Out Boy covers, every Beatles song ever written, and weird ditties Beau invented about ostriches and Slinkies, until Carlos finally makes him stop "because we need your stupid fingers, asshole." Kendall cracks up, makes butt sex jokes for ten minutes while Carlos blushes and cusses him out, until James takes pity and asks Kendall if he wants to go skinny dipping. Kendall spends twenty minutes in the water attempting to turn James into a seaweed monster, and another five laughing at Carlos and Logan on shore, dry and mature and _clothed_, and failing so hard at pretending they're not watching.

The sky is purple tonight, melting out over the last struggling planes of gray-blue. Kendall thinks of grape popsicles. Of gay pride, and that weird McDonald's character that looks like a giant purple ghost and that scared the shit out of him until he was ten. Kendall thinks, _I miss_.

"I miss candy," he announces across the campfire, eyes lost in the flames' liquid movements.

James chuckles, missing a beat as he sharpens his spear. "I miss gel."

"I miss _corndogs_," Carlos chimes, shaving the last edges off a soon-to-be torch.

Logan brings his coconut down hard against the rock, says, "I miss sex," and Kendall spits out his water.

Logan smiles at his coconut, and Carlos and James make noises of amusement, fully at Kendall's expense.

"Um."

Kendall wavers between taking this slowly or just going for the kill, but he loses patience trying to decide and ends up doing the latter, scrambling across the sand and plopping himself down in Logan's lap, draping his arms across Logan's neck and smiling brightly up at him.

"Ack - " Logan half-attempts to push him off as Kendall fidgets to get closer. "With women - with _women_!"

"Who are you kidding, Mitchell?" Kendall grins, just soft enough for the words to be Logan's only, but loud enough for the others to catch because Kendall can't not perform a _little_, when he's got material this golden.

It's worth it, too, when Carlos snorts and mutters, "Seriously."

Kendall looks back to Logan, widening his grin and waggling his eyebrows. "Well? I mean, come on, man, we're all _here_. We could totally use coconut milk as lube..."

Logan shakes his head, hopeless. "You, are a big disgusting gay pervert." He's smiling through it, though, and the words lose all weight. Especially since they're true and all.

Kendall snuggles a little closer, pushing his limits, curling his legs up until he's nearly all the way in Logan's lap. It's past that point where they're just looking at each other, into the point where their eyes have locked.

Kendall can only say, "But you love me."

He's expecting, _Fuck off_. He's expecting, _Whatever, get your fat ass off me_. He's even expecting Logan to go quiet again, but it would be worth it this time, just to have this, this moment; to be this close to him, looking at Kendall this way; to have this image locked away in his memory so he can pull it up in his last hours on earth and think, it was worth it. For this, it was worth it.

He's not expecting the reality.

The reality is that Logan says, "Yeah, I do," quiet and unfocused like he's just discovered the fact, and dips his head down, lips meeting Kendall's.

The awesome thing here, obviously, is that Logan. _is kissing him._

The shitty thing is that Kendall doesn't even realize it's a kiss until it's over.

There's no tongue, scarcely pressure at all, steady and soft, nearly chaste; there's barely even motion, only the shocked little squeak from Kendall as he freezes into it, not daring to move, as Logan presses in just a little more firmly, solidifying that this, definitely, was not an accident. What's happening is so far above Kendall's head that he's not even focused on the fact that their mouths are touching, that this isn't a staged attempt, scripted and deliberately foiled in front of thousands (and somehow, Carlos and James's stares are making him blush harder right now than ten thousand fangirls ever did).

He's focused instead on how Logan's arms aren't trying to shove him off, but rather they're holding him up. He thinks about how Logan's knee is digging into his back and how he totally doesn't care, at _all_. He thinks about how this can't possibly be the first time they've done this, because this feels so ridiculously _normal_, like they've been doing it forever. Logan may not smell like the Logan he remembers; he smells like dirty sand and saltwater and coconut; he hasn't shaved in days (hell, the rest of them haven't shaved in _weeks_), and there's scratchy stubble tickling Kendall's chin. It's not the fantasy his sixteen-year-old self had conjured, but somehow, it's perfect. It's better.

And he'll never know how he managed to fit all those thoughts into the three-second span of the kiss; soon enough the warm heat of Logan's lips is gone (and, Jesus, he knows what the _warm heat of Logan's lips_ feels like, _fuck_), and Logan's not looking at him like he wants to take it back. He's looking at him just the way Kendall remembers before he'd leant in, his face gentle and unstressed, at ease in the moment, with the smallest upward curve tugging at his lips.

Kendall swallows, harder than he'd like. "Guess - guess this place does crazy things to you, huh?"

Logan's smile widens, and holy fuck, it's crazy beautiful this close. His arms are still firm around Kendall as he says, "Maybe not so crazy."

Kendall laughs a little, and for a second they just stare, and Kendall's almost entertaining the thought of, _shit, again?!_, until Logan chuckles a bit, trying to shift his limbs.

"Isn't my knee like, jabbing you in the back?"

"Yeah."

"Doesn't that hurt?"

"Yeah." Kendall smiles and starts to crawl off, giving Logan ample time to disentangle their bodies, and resumes his seat a few feet away, only, maybe a little closer. He stares at the sand and tries not to smile like a kid on Christmas.

James and Carlos's eyes burn stupid, giggly, teenage holes into Kendall's head, and when he looks up, James quickly turns to Logan, biting back a grin.

"So, Logie. Did you enjoy your first gay kiss?"

And apparently this is funny enough that Carlos spits out a choppy burst of laughter, because obviously he's _twelve_.

"Shut up," Logan bitches. "I've totally kissed guys. I've totally _made out_ with guys."

"You're totally _lying_," Kendall points out.

"He's not lying."

All eyes turn to Carlos, who is smiling down at Abu.

"Oh _really_?" Kendall prods, too amused and too self-satisfied to entertain jealousy (because, whatever, to hell with other boys, Logan kissed _him, tonight_).

"Spill," James orders, chewing a piece of coconut Logan had flung at him.

"Spill!" Kendall echoes, bouncing his knee impatiently. "Who was it?"

Logan sighs. "Thank you, Carlos, for being the worst friend in the universe."

"Anytime."

He sighs again, shaking his head, because clearly he is so above this, and mumbles, "Nate."

A fucking _cacophony_ splits the air, catcalls and guffaws and high-fiving and mentions of bets and owing, and before it can even die down, Logan's already opening his mouth again.

"Gabe."

"I _knew_ it!" Carlos announces, pumping his fist in the air. "I fucking _called_ that, man."

Logan sighs, trying his best not to smile at his coconut as he works away at it, casual as ever. "Alex."

"Oooh," James finally voices a word-based opinion. "He's a good kisser, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Logan smiles. "Wait - how do - "

James raises an eyebrow and grins, wide and wicked; Cheshire Cat ain't got nothing on this.

"Oh my _god_!" Carlos chokes, and Kendall, Kendall is just reeling and speechless. "How did I not know this, you jerkface?"

"Never asked," Logan replies cheekily.

"Anymore?" Kendall manages to squeak out, because seriously, he can_not_ let_this_ happen around him without participating.

Logan shrugs, mumbling something incoherent.

"Didn't catch that!" James calls at the top of his lungs.

"Oh my god, you turd, Beau, okay?!"

Kendall's not even sure why, but this is like, the funniest thing that's been said all _month_, and the three of them who aren't Logan are literally rolling around on the floor, caught up in hysterics. Carlos's so far gone he's not even making noise anymore.

"Fuck off, you're all ten years old," Logan snaps. "Oh, and Carlos."

It's suddenly quiet, save for the chorus of insects who are most unfortunately oblivious to what they're witnessing.

Kendall and James sit up in unison like pervy little robots and stare at Carlos, who's staring death rays at Logan, who's smirking back at him like the cat who got the cream, only it's sweetened cream with cinnamon and chocolate shavings on top.

"Excuse me?" James queries lightly, a creepy sort of happiness spread through his face and voice both.

"Huh... did I not mention that?" Logan asks innocently, slipping half a degree from the monotone. Carlos glowers. "Yeah, we kind of used to practice on each other... y'know."

James nods carefully. "Whoa. Hardcore."

But Kendall has other ideas (most of which are all kinds of X-rated). "Whoa, no, okay, you don't end in 'y'know,' Logan, this is fucking _hot_ and I want _details_."

"I hate you, Kendall," Carlos deadpans.

Kendall beams at him. "Whatever, let's make out."

James cackles, and Logan works hard to stop himself, but he does giggle, and oh god, how fucking _cute_ is that.

"Yeah," Logan goes on, picking at his coconut. "Litos does this thing, when he's turned on, like - "

"Logan."

" - Like, this sort of low, growly noise in his throat..."

"_LOGAN!_"

Logan grins. "It was hot."

Kendall just manages to catch the last hot wave of blush that sweeps over Carlos's cheeks (even in the dark, _hahaha_), before his face softens. Just for a second, before scrunching up a bit again as he finally picks up his spear, trying to ignore everyone.

"If it was so hot, why'd you say we should stop?" he mumbles, trying to force a carelessness and light, forgiving sarcasm into the words, but it's obvious it's a real question, one that's maybe been unspoken and waiting six years for an answer, and Logan's the first to recognize it.

James and Kendall share a look, a _we're seeing something epic here_ look, and stop breathing.

Logan's looking right at Carlos, unblinking. "I - you'd already started dating Stephanie. You know how I feel about... y'know. Infidelity and stuff."

Carlos shrugs, not looking up. "Yeah."

"...Litos."

"I would've stopped," Carlos says suddenly, and it's so quiet, like the words have waited so long to get out but now that they're here, they've got stage fright, realizing their own weight.

"Stopped?"

"Seeing her. Y'know. If. Y'know."

Kendall and James exchange another look, eyes wider and Kendall's pretty sure he can feel James's heart pounding across the fire.

Logan swallows, an attempt to reconstruct his broken voice. "Seriously?"

Carlos shrugs again, eyes still set safely on the ground. "Yeah. For you, yeah. I mean, if you'd actually... yeah."

Holy _fuck_.

"..._Litos_."

Carlos looks up briefly, favors him with a tiny, fleeting smile, and turns back to the objects in his hands, evidently trying to remember what he'd been doing before their collective world just flipped upside down. Logan doesn't wait, just gets up and strides over to him, kneeling in front of him and tilting his head up so their faces are even, and Kendall's heart pretty much stops. He's actually expecting Logan to kiss him, holy _shit_, but Logan just crawls into his lap, curling his arms around him and pressing his face into Carlos's neck. James watches, motionless, and Kendall can see Logan's lips moving, near silent. He can't make out the words, but every few moments Carlos will nod, or his eyes will drop shut, or he'll hold onto Logan a little tighter. Eventually, he smiles. They don't move unless it's together - breathing in unison, shifting their limbs; it's kind of how they've done everything, since forever.

Kendall thinks, _fuck_, and breathes, finally, before spreading himself out on a blanket a little further away from the fire and closing his eyes.

It's not like him; they always sleep together, always, _always_, pressed together and spooning in various combinations, the four of them, every night since they got here. It gets chilly here at night; at least that's the safe excuse. And it's not that Kendall doesn't want to now, it's just, he feels like he needs room to think, to take breaths and let the oxygen seep into his brain. He wants clear thoughts, because nothing's clear right now.

Then again, everything's kind of amazing, and he smiles out at the black expanse of ocean more than once.

Still, he's working hard, trying to force his brain to focus on the feeling of Logan's lips against his, and not the brand-fucking-new knowledge that Logan actually isn't the gigantic homophobe Kendall had always assumed him to be. He's trying so fucking hard not to think _why them and not me?_ because tonight... tonight was perfect. And if he lets himself start thinking all the bad shit, things could get really messy.

He lies awake maybe an hour before he feels shuffling, shifting, a whisper and a response, and then a shadow blocking the light from the fire, and warm skin pressed against his back.

Logan.

Kendall starts to turn over, carefully so he doesn't squash him, and Logan shifts to accommodate him until Kendall's on his back, head propped on his arm, and Logan's head is on his shoulder, the rest of him pressed close against Kendall's side.

They watch each other for a long time like that, and Kendall doesn't know what's happened that's made it so easy, so _acceptable_, for them to look at each other this way, this closely, with no repercussions, no awkwardness, no fear, but it's fucking mind-blowing, and he can't imagine ever letting go of it now he's experienced it, even if it never leads to another kiss.

Logan's eyes are incredible in this light; the fire, the moon, all projecting their own shine into them. Kendall doesn't know what gives him the strength to say it (maybe those eyes), but he finally whispers, "I wish you'd talk to me."

Logan looks sad then, and Kendall wants so badly to take it back, despite its truth.

"I know," Logan whispers, one arm snaking across Kendall's chest as he lowers his head, nuzzling it into Kendall's shoulder and effectively breaking their gaze. "I know, Bear."

Kendall falls asleep thinking of how long it's been since Logan's called him that, and how much Logan used to smile when he did.

For the first time that night, he doesn't dream about Guitar Dude's death.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** **sorry I'm really bad at making these/feel like I should just publish the chapters and let them speak for themselves. Just wanted to clarify that I did take some liberties with their backgrounds, and their personalities definitely have parts of the real-life guys, I couldn't avoid it. If there's any other questions/comments feel free to review or pm me :) **

**Also, I wanted to thank Candid-canoe for her support. Her writing is part of what inspired me and the fact that she's one of the fans of this makes me entirely too happy. Thank you as well to Erin G. Allen whose reviews have fueled me to try my best with new chapters, and are too wonderful. THANK YOU.**

_"You have to come with me. You're contractually obligated now."_

_It's been six days since James took the pen from Gustavo's hand and scrawled out the loops of his name on the line marked "X," solidifying Big Time Rush, and Kendall's been milking it ever since._

_James had to kick Carlos's ass after Carlos beat Kendall at Guitar Hero; he was contractually obligated now._

_He had to let Kendall make him coffee; he was contractually obligated now._

_He had to side with Kendall in the A-flat-versus-E-flat debate Logan wouldn't let die; he was - yeah._

_Logan had very dryly pointed out that pleasing Kendall twenty-four-seven was written nowhere in James's contract, and Carlos had whispered something to Logan that turned his ears red._

_"No," James had agreed, smiling at a deflated Kendall, "but I like pleasing Kendall anyway."_

_Kendall had beamed, and in James's eyes, that was more than enough to validate his claim._

_Only now, now it's twelve-thirty in the morning before their first full day off in two weeks, and James kind of just wants to sleep. For like a year._

_"Please?"_

_Kendall pouts. Logan rolls his eyes. Carlos pretends not to smile. James sighs, light and smiley and betraying himself completely, and Kendall has already linked their arms together. Carlos calls, "Have him home by three," and absolutely doesn't blush when James winks at him._

_The club, "seriously awesome, everyone's said so," as it turns out, is in itself enough to wake James up well into next week, but for entirely unexpected reasons._

_It's that kind of awareness-before-awareness that hits him, a sinking feeling of not-quite-right before the reality really creeps under his skin and sets him on fire, his eyes drawing in the couples matched up and strewn across the sharp angles of the club's interior, huddled behind pillars or lost in the shadows behind the flashing lights of the dance floor; buried into booths with abandoned cocktails perched on trendy little tables beside them._

_James swallows at his first glimpse of tongue-against-tongue, halfway down the bar._

_"Kendall?"_

_"Mm?"_

_James blinks, trying to work this out in his head before the words spill out, stupid-sounding and blunt. "I think this is a gay bar."_

_"I think you're right, James Diamond."_

_"Did you, um, did you already know that?"_

_"Um. Yes?"_

_And there it is, the moment of awakening as James catches the Something that floods briefly into Kendall's eyes, the chaotically desperate search for approval, the guilt that confesses 'I didn't know how else to...'_

_In retrospect, it may not have been the ideal move, but for now all James can do is feel his own heart sink into the pit of his stomach, propelling him to clamp a hand gently around Kendall's tiny forearm and drag him out into the open air, chasing some silence, some room to breathe - room to listen, even._

_"I'm sorry, sorry, I'm sorry," Kendall's sputtering before James's even come to a stop or released his arm. "I didn't, this was stupid, I wasn't trying to - I just - I mean, I couldn't go alone, god, and I know Logan and Carlos totally would've said no, and I just thought, maybe, you'd - y'know. Fuck. It's my first time doing this, I'm sorry. I suck. But you were the first person I wanted to tell."_

_"I - Kendall."_

_"I'm sorry," he repeats emphatically to his shoes, just in case James didn't get it the first four times._

_"Kendall. Dude. Look at me."_

_Kendall does, with markedly pained reluctance._

_"Are you - is - is this your way of coming out to me?"_

_Slowly, Kendall nods. "I told you I suck."_

_James grins, small, reassuring, but unable to shut out the mischief altogether. "No, you don't. Well, maybe for some lucky guy you might" - Kendall blushes, drops his eyes, and it de-ages him about five years, god - "but you don't suck in a bad way."_

_Kendall shrugs, unconvinced._

_"Um." James shifts his weight to the other foot, half-tripping in the process. Smooth. "Do Logan and Carlos know?"_

_"I guess. Yeah. I mean. I've never come out and said it. They're not... expressive types like that. I think they figure I'll say it when I'm ready, if I even feel like I have to. That's kind of how they work."_

_"Dude, why didn't you just tell me?"_

_"I didn't want to... I don't know. I didn't want you to hate me."_

_James shoves at his shoulder. "And surprise-dragging me to a gay bar is less intimidating than saying, 'Hey James, I like dick'?"_

_Kendall smiles a little, like he's fighting it, and it's kind of adorable. "Yeah, I totally, totally suck."_

_"Whatever. I'm buying you a drink, come on."_

_"Dude, you don't - we don't have to - "_

_"I'm buying you a drink, and I'm gonna hang all over you and make everybody in there jealous, so get over it."_

_His grin lights up the block, burns the freezing cold right out of the air, and James feels his face heat up. "I can't, uh, actully drink yet."_

_"Then I'll buy you a fucking Coke, you tard."_

_Kendall smiles, and they both know James's offer has little to do with alcohol or lack thereof._

_"You don't have to do this," Kendall repeats, and that's not about the drink either._

_James winks at him. "Yeah I do. It's in my contract."_

_Kendall tosses a smile down to the ground, the slight part of his lips somewhere between grateful and sheepish. "Thanks," he tells his shoes._

_"Hey." James tugs at his sleeves, waiting for the eye contact Kendall eventually allows. "So does Logan know you're in love with him?"_

_In itself it seems superfluous, uncalled for and pointlessly insensitive; but it's James. And for that, Kendall understands. It's not even a question. It's not a jab, or a tease. It's an 'I get it, you know. And it's okay.'_

_Kendall smiles, weaker but wiser, and lets James thread their fingers together as he opens the door, the muffled pounding of the club's bass turning full-blown, alive and fiery, as they step back inside._

_James's hand is warm, his grip certain, uncompromising. _

_Kendall exhales, long and full. His chest unclenches as James smiles at him sideways, and he thinks, I might love you._

"Seriously, what?"

Carlos smiles wider now, the all-knowing glint in his eyes no longer fighting for subtlety, but he doesn't answer immediately. His fingers are busy tying knots in what will (they hope) eventually evolve into a sort of travel-bag-on-a-stick, traditional hobo style. James and Logan are "collecting sustenance" for the journey, which Carlos and Kendall both know is an excuse to take off for the caves, and Kendall totally can't stop laughing because it sounds so fantastically euphemistic like that. He's maybe made more than one "cave of wonders" joke. Possibly more than six.

Kendall and Abu have work of their own though, and are engaged in a joint collaborative effort involving the accumulation of nuts: specifically, Kendall collects them, places them in their rightful container, and Abu snatches a handful and scatters them about camp.

Deciding Kendall's suffered his due amount of suspense, Carlos finally looks at him. "You should've seen your face last night."

"When?"

Carlos's hands still, eyes darkening as his lips curl a little higher. "You know when."

And it's not until those words, until the tone of Carlos's voice, hinting and mischievous, that Kendall really does know, and the memory swoops back over him, of Logan's lips pressed against his, warm and, Jesus, deliberate, and, and just, Loganish.

And. It's kind of amazing that Kendall has the means to describe a kiss as "Loganish" now.

Fucking life, and its fucking awesomeness.

"Shut up," is Kendall's eloquent verbal transcription of these thoughts.

"No, hey," Carlos protests. "I'm not - I'm not making fun of you."

"Then I think you should see a doctor," Kendall winks.

Carlos smiles. "I'm not. I'm just." He turns back to his knots, fidgeting stupidly as it's plenty obvious his mind is anywhere but his task. "You looked so fucking happy."

"I was," Kendall answers honestly. It's not the kind of thing he could bring himself to deny, even if he wanted to.

"I just." Carlos looks up again. "It's been awhile since. Y'know. Since I've seen you like that."

Kendall smiles and tries not to think of all the reasons he has not to, and instead think of the reasons he does. "Then maybe you should tell your skank-ass best friend to kiss me more often."

Carlos grins, and it's been awhile since Kendall's seen that grin, too. "He's totally your skank-ass best friend too, you know."

"Whatever, you had him first."

"Your mom had him first."

"Who did Kendall's mom have first?" Logan pipes up as he breaks through the bushes, James in tow.

"You," Carlos provides, still grinning at Kendall.

"Oh. Yeah. She was so fucking good, Ken."

"Ew, shut the fuck up!"

"Whatever, your mom's hot."

"She really is," Carlos agrees.

"Fucking traitor." Kendall throws a wadded-up t-shirt at Carlos, who defeats the attack by unballing it and pulling it over his head.

Carlos grins at James, who grins back, making it perfectly clear they've fallen into their usual pattern of step-outside-the-Logan/Kendall-ring-of-conflict-an d-laugh-uselessly-at-them.

"Did you have a, uh, productive time?" Kendall asks James. Carlos snorts, and Kendall feels a jolt of triumph, because, fuck, if his immaturity is rubbing off on Carlos, he's clearly amazing.

"Yeah, we did, actually," James smiles at Logan, ignoring him, and Logan smiles back. And if Logan didn't have that crazed I've-been-scientific glint in his eye, Kendall might actually be worried (or at least want dirty details). "Are we ready?"

"Abu ate all the nuts," Kendall announces.

"Actually," Carlos adds, "Abu scattered the nuts, then Kendall ate them."

"Yeah, well, Kendall loves nuts," Logan deadpans with as much euphemism as the monotone can effect, adding a smirk for good measure.

James pokes him. "Only yours."

"Not true," Kendall protests. "Like his have even dropped yet, anyway."

Logan hits him with his fedora, hard, and Carlos cackles. Kendall and James are too busy teaming up in giggles as the group heads off into the forest, but when Logan whispers something to Carlos, it sounds ominously like, "If anyone could stand up for me on that one, asshole, it'd be you."

But when Kendall turns around, wide-eyed and ready to make demands of disclosure, they're lost in each other, sharing that we-wouldn't-tell-you-if-you-asked grin, so Kendall doesn't.

The grin, however, is contagious.

It's the first sunny day in a week, and Kendall's told them that is worthy of celebration.

Kendall's been deeming a lot of things worthy of celebration ("It's a Monday and we don't have to work!" "...We don't do nine-to-fives, dumbass." "It didn't rain today!" "Yeah, and that means the fish aren't out."), in order to motivate the others toward a journey into the map's "unexplored shit" that has intrigued Kendall since its discovery - or rather, lack thereof.

James said no eight times because they didn't have appropriate weapons and they didn't Know What's Out There.

Kendall pouted for two weeks and James fashioned some appropriate weapons.

Some things never change.

"Holy shit, shit, look at this thing! This is fucking awesome!" Kendall's insisting for about the twenty-ninth time over the past hour. "This flower's bigger than my head."

"So was the last one, and the eighteen before that," Logan points out, shoving a creepy yellow leaf out of his path. "We haven't found anything useful, can we go back?"

"Whatever, you love flowers." Kendall pokes at him, and Logan's balance stutters. "You totally want to experiment on all of these."

"Because I'm a boring old scientist?"

"Yes," Carlos and James say.

"Fuck you both."

"At once?" Kendall's eyebrows shoot up. "Hey, dude, how awesome would it be if your dick was like, one of those two-headed snakes, you know, that they have at the zoo? Because then you could totally do that. Oh my god, do you think people like that actually exist? Do you think they both get hard together, or like, take turns? Can both of them come if only one of them's getting any action?"

He's looking straight at Logan the entire time, face utterly serious. James and Carlos have long since dissolved into silent hysterics, but Logan is looking at him like Kendall just grew a second - well. You know.

Logan blinks. "I need new friends."

Kendall shoves at him again, resuming his trek forward. "Shut up, I'm horny, okay? It's been like, three months since I've had sex."

"You went almost nineteen years just fine, loser," Carlos says.

"It was hell."

"It really was," Logan admits. "I had to hear about it for nine of those years. Would have been longer if you had known what sex was earlier."

"Now, now," James interjects, diplomatic as ever, "to be fair, that didn't really count because he wasn't interested in women anyway. So really he's only had like, two good years of sex."

"Why thank you, James!"

"Whatever," Carlos grumbles, charging forward into the mess of plants. "We're all sex-deprived. Get over it. We just have to find things to keep our mind off it so we don't - "

He breaks off suddenly right as his stride halts, and everyone bumps into someone else's back. There's plenty of mumbling and "the fuck?" and "move, jackass," until their shuffling spreads them out far enough apart in the small clearing, a clearing just large enough to accommodate -

"Holy. fuck."

"Oh Jesus."

A low chuckle rumbles forth from James's throat, and Logan just stares with his mouth slightly open, like if he stares hard enough at it, it might go away.

"The fuck is that?" Carlos demands.

"It is the greatest fucking plant ever, Carlos Garcia."

"It's fucking huge," Logan gawks.

"That's what she said," James winks, and Logan grins at him, and, the fuck? How is James allowed to make lame jokes and Logan smiles, but when it's Kendall...

But whatever, Kendall's right. It's a fucking huge phallic plant that's like, almost as tall as they are, with an indigo base and a giant yellowish-green stem-like thing, and yeah. It's the greatest plant ever.

"Dude," Kendall prods, his voice still breathy with awe. "Is it - "

"Swear to god," Logan threatens, "if you start making seed jokes, I'll make sure you never produce any of your own ever again."

"Whatever. Oh my god, do you think it's like, one of those plants that'll like, suck anything in if it gets too close?"

"No, Kendall," Carlos sighs, "that would be your asshole."

James cackles.

"Now, now," Logan relents, switching tactics as he claps a hand down on Kendall's shoulder, urging them all forward. "Kendall can't help it if he likes it up the ass."

"Only if it's up your sweet ass," Kendall coos.

"Logan dosen't have an ass," Carlos reminds them.

"Shut the fuck up, I do too."

James's lewd grin settles into place. "Only one way to find out."

Kendall gives an approving "ha!" and makes a grab for the ass in question, but Logan scoots away, lunging forward ahead of the group with scandalized mutterings of "fucking pervs." It effectively hides his grin, but after a few more moments of walking, they realize he's no longer in sight.

"...Logan?"

They shuffle forward, following the minimal destruction of obstacles Logan's small body had accomplished as he'd walked, and find themselves in another collision of limbs and torsos until they spread out side by side in a line, looking out over something that is really, really not forest.

The first word that comes to Kendall's mind is Littlefoot.

It expands over the next few seconds to other words, Land Before Time, The Great Valley, and so on, and then words tend to vanish altogether as his senses take over.

"Holy...sh..." James breathes.

Kendall thinks that pretty much covers it.

It's not miles wide or anything; they can see across to the other side, to the forest lining the roughly circular exapnse, but it's bigger than a football field and about sixteen thousand times better.

Down a grassy slope from where they stand, there's more open space than Kendall can remember seeing in years, grass and slopes and flowers and it's a dream, it's seriously - it's a dream. Between city-to-city touring, skyscrapers and tourbuses; between the narrow, winding strip of beach back at home (well, at camp), trapping them between the ocean and the forest; between the rocky cliffs and the dense forest itself - seeing this now is like taking a full breath for the first time in longer than anyone could remember.

There's a lake in the center, the crown jewel - or maybe it's more of a pond, blue as photographs and shining like glass, and scattered around it in beds of lush grass have to be at least a hundred trees. Their trunks lack the recognizable criss-cross and jagged layers of the familiar palms, instead boasting smooth, brown trunks, wide, shady branches and thick leaves - and Kendall's undoubtedly spent way too much time in the city, but he is pretty fucking sure there's shit hanging from the trees that is totally, totally edible.

Sweet Jesus, and - yeah. They're fucking fruit trees.

Logan's been staring the longest (Kendall can already imagine the claims they'll be hearing later, "it's my fucking forest, I decide how we gather the fruit," because Logan can totally be five years old too), and without warning, into the wide expanse of oxygen, releases a wild, primitive yell of triumph, so powerful it's tempting to look around to make sure it didn't come from elsewhere, because, like, since when are Logan's lungs even capable of a sound like that.

But it's pretty obvious it's him when he throws both arms sky-high into the air and begins tearing down the slope, limbs flailing stupidly, war cry still wailing strong, spear flopping about in one hand, and Carlos's a heartbeat away from taking after him with a strangled cry of "Logan - !" but there's James's hand, warm and firm on Carlos's chest, his smile clearly displaying some of Logan's crazy that must've rubbed off.

"Let him go," he says softly.

"I - " Carlos swipes a hand roughly through his hair before yelling "Be careful!" for good measure. "I. Jesus." A look of awe has taken over the onset of worry in his face, and a bit of James's crazy smile is tugging at his lips. "I haven't seen him like this since we were kids."

"Yeah," James says quietly, encouragingly, and it doesn't really say anything, it doesn't really mean anything, but it makes sense, to them. To Carlos, if his expression is any indication.

"Okay," Kendall says conclusively, solidifying his grip on his spear, "you grandpas can sit around and get all sentimental. I'm OUTTA HERE!"

The "I'm" is drawn out to echo the same kind of wailing glory of Logan's war cry (or maybe, more likely, the way the Genie yells "we're outta here" at the end of Aladdin, but whatever, shut up), as Kendall races down the hill, arms flopping as he hurries to catch up with Logan, who is already trying to climb a tree, which may be the most failtastic (it is too a word, Logan) endeavor any of them has attempted on the island thus far.

Logan gets a chestful of bark burn within twenty-six seconds, and James and Kendall diplomatically accept the post of designated tree climbers.

Carlos organizes things.

He separates the fruit into piles, by size and then by color and then by fruit, and works on arranging something that will carry them all back to camp.

Logan offers... instructional support, which basically consists of micromanaging the shit out of the DC's (it only took about four minutes before Kendall was insisting the designated climbers be labeled as such, because it sounds official).

"You're - you're missing it. No, higher, look, the big one next to your head."

"I'll put a big one next to your head, Mitchell," Kendall grumbles, lips curling up as he picks the fruit in question and tosses it in Logan's general direction before leaping out of the tree and tackling Logan to the ground, squeezing out a noise of dissent and shock as Logan drops the half-eaten fruit that had been clutched in his hand.

"Get off, ugh."

"I'm gettin' off on this just fine, baby," he purrs, shuffling his hips closer.

"Kendall!"

Kendall allows Logan to squirm out from under him, but they're both grinning, still sprawled close on the ground, and Logan's got a bit of syrupy fruit juice at the edge of his mouth, pink and wet and sweet and - okay, that's - yeah. And. He really shouldn't. That. That really shouldn't be there. Because it would maybe be the easiest thing in the world to just lean over and lick it off.

Logan's eyes are suddenly wide and liquid, and Kendall knows he knows.

Kendall smiles, tries to, succeeds, maybe - and stands up. No sooner is he on his feet than James is jumping on the war cry bandwagon, shrieking something far manlier than Kendall or Logan had screeched on their way down the hill, and in a crazy blur he's swooping to the ground, collecting Logan in his arms, slinging him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and sprinting toward the lake, Logan flailing and giggling helpessly, weak protests spilling from his lips.

Kendall looks on, grinning wide, all awkward moments dismissed as he watches James dump Logan into the bright blue water before diving in himself, and an unfairly size-biased dunking war ensues.

"Why," Carlos sighs, shaking his head as he walks up behind Kendall with a large, round fruit in each hand, "do men feel that primitive animalistic noises and behavior are the most effective way to establish their masculinity?"

Kendall looks him up and down, shrugs, says "I dunno," and lunges, locking his arms around Carlos's middle and picking him up with one such animalistic noise. Carlos whines, whines, and the entire effort is largely ineffective, with Kendall only lifting him a few inches off the ground and managing less than two steps (backward, no less), but the fire has been ignited, and the moment Carlos is back on solid ground, he's mumbling something about Kendall being a little shit, and with no effort at all, hoists him into his arms, bridal style, and carries him steadily to the water's edge, Kendall squirming fitfully.

About a thousand and eight rounds of chicken later ("Best out of twenty-three, come on!"), mid-afternoon has settled in comfortably around them as they lie in the grass under the closest and largest tree, munching on fruit and trying to remember they're not on vacation. They're in a square, Carlos's head on Logan's stomach, Logan's head on Kendall's stomach, and so on. There's something oddly solidifying about it, eternal, like a circle, the way they all merge like this, locking themselves into each other.

And maybe there are spears lying on the ground beside them, and maybe somewhere out there is something with the capacity to kill all of them (if survivor skills don't fail them first), but it's, no question, the safest Kendall's ever felt in his life.

"It's Halloween," James says out of the blue.

"Oh my god, it is." Kendall pokes at him. "Is it?"

"Yeah, it's the thirty-first," Carlos says, and Carlos would know, because he makes the little tick-marks on the tree every morning without fail, like their lives depend on it.

"What if..." Logan starts, pointing a hand up aimlessly toward the sky, "what if it's not really the thirty-first? Like. Imagine if like, we were a day off, and it's actually the thirtieth. We'd be like... a whole day ahead of the world, and not even know it."

"Actually," Carlos notes, "we'd just think we were a whole day ahead. It would just be an illusion."

"But isn't all time an illusion? Isn't it just what we make of it? Our perceptions shape time, dictate it, not the other way around?"

Somewhere in this nonsense, Kendall and James shift their heads to share a look that would, under normal circumstances, say, So, wanna go smoke?

Carlos sighs, reaching up to pat Logan's head. "It's too fucking late in the afternoon for philosophy, Mitchell."

Kendall snorts. Logan bats at him.

"Hey," Kendall offers, "why haven't we gotten cavities yet?"

"The fuck?" James laughs. "We've only been eating fruit for like, three hours, and besides, it's natural sugar."

"No, but like, we've been sharing toothbrushes and trying to make the toothpaste last and we only get to brush like every few days, shouldn't we be all, full of cavities by now?"

"But we've only been eating natural foods," Logan points out. "No preservatives, chemicals, no artificial shit. I'm not surprised."

Kendall doesn't respond, because Logan's stroking his hair now, idly, but god, and if he responds, Logan might keep talking, and Logan tends to use his hands when he talks.

"Is anyone else wondering what the hell this place is?" Carlos asks the silence.

"It's the Fruit Valley of Epic Win," Kendall insists, like it's obvious as hell.

"You're a fruit valley," James says.

"I am," Kendall agrees, and they share a grin.

"Seriously," Carlos continues, ignoring them. "Like. This is way too fucking perfect to just, like, be here. Someone must've planted it or something."

"But there's no one here," Kendall reminds him.

"How the fuck do we know? We haven't even explored the whole island, it could be like, the size of Texas. There could be huge cities miles away that we don't even know about. Real cities, with like, electricity and skyscrapers and shit."

"Or," James offers, "there could be like, a whole tribe of beautiful women just waiting for some guys to procreate with."

There's a long, stifled pause, until Kendall says, "...Ew."

"Yeah, because you're gay," James pokes at him.

"No," Logan insists. "That's still ew."

"You're gay too," Carlos and James chime in unison, and the four set off into laughter, loud and clear and echoing out across the lake.

"We should do something," Logan insists for the twelfth time. "It's Halloween."

"Okay, yeah, I'll just go sew a Batman costume, okay?"

Logan stumbles off the path, sighing to himself as he picks up yet another foreign object, turning it around in his hands. Kendall's pretty much convinced one of these times it's going to be a vicious insect predator in disguise, but Logan isn't to be reasoned with at the moment.

"We'll tell ghost stories, how's that?" James suggests.

"I'm sure we could come up with some creepy-ass dares," Carlos add.

"Yeah, or - " Kendall stops, noticing Logan is no longer in his line of vision, and spins around on the spot. "...Loges?"

Logan is standing a few paces behind, and looks up at the sound of his name, like he'd suddenly forgotten where or who he is. His mouth is slightly open, his hand clutching the last object he'd snatched up, and when his eyes meet Kendall's, he jerks his head a bit, indicating for Kendall to come closer.

"Look," Logan says, reaching for one of Kendall's hands and curling his fingers around the wrist as his other hand, now nearly black from whatever he's been holding, lifts up to draw a thin, black line down Kendall's forearm.

Kendall looks up. "I - what - "

"Some kind of stone? Or part of a plant? I dunno. Maybe - maybe we could try melting it? It might get more... liquidy or something?"

Kendall is still a little lost. "But - why?"

Logan watches him, carefully rubs a bit of the blackness onto his finger, and, holding Kendall's face steady with one hand, slowly, gently traces his finger below Kendall's eyelashes.

Too close.

Kendall swallows, losing himself in Logan's eyes for the millionth time. "Oh."

His first thought is, too long.

And it has. It's been way, way too long. During high school he had worn makeup infrequently in an attempt to show how much of a bad boy he was. So he could hide behind something other than a book.

His fingertips are jet black by the time he's done working it over the fire, his hands smudged and blackened. Carlos makes a crack about working under the car all day and Logan thinks maybe, maybe he saw Kendall bite his lip and close his eyes at the comment, because it's Kendall, and he fails at subtlety.

James must've seen it too, because he's grinning down at the camera in his hands, and holding his camera doesn't usually make him smile.

Logan tries it out on himself first, holding up a knife and trying to peer into the smudged metal to catch a glimpse of his reflection. It's not ideal, but it's only fair; he's not going to subject the rest of them to this if it doesn't work properly.

He's so hard-focused on the task that he doesn't feel Kendall crawl over to him and close his fingers gently around Logan's wrist. As liberal as Kendall is with physical affection, he's always careful with it in the end, making certain not to push his limits or cross boundaries he knows he just can't cross. Wrist grabbing is pretty intimate as far as Logan's concerned, even if it's soft, unthreatening: wrists are fragile and the grip could hold a lot of power if someone wanted it to. Gentle as this is, though, it's more sort of a request to take away your power; for you to give it up willingly, for you to entrust yourself to someone else.

Kendall doesn't often dare to make that kind of request.

His fingers and his eyes make it for him, questioning, and Logan allows. Watches as Kendall takes the knife and drops it to the side, extracts the black item from Logan's fingers and arranges himself so he's seated right in front of Logan, knees folded Indian-style, matching Logan's position. Logan almost wants to suggest that Kendall climb onto his lap, straddle his legs; it'd give him better access, a much more effective angle.

But. Y'know. Just. He doesn't want to say no in his head, because it's not like it would bother him, but it's. Carlos and James are already watching, and it's not like - but it's.

It's no. For now, it's no.

Kendall wiggles his butt to scoot himself forward a bit, his knees bumping Logan's, and slants his torso inward until their faces are so close Logan can count each tiny bit of stubble on Kendall's face.

"So," Kendall whispers, voice simmering. "A priest and a choir boy walk into a bar..."

He'd forgotten; Logan had totally forgotten that they - yeah, they do this, and suddenly he's laughing so hard his head drops right down to Kendall's shoulder. He can feel the vibrations of Kendall's laughter, and hear Carlos and James's giggling in the background, and it feels amazing like this, his senses wrapped in the laughter of the three people in his world who matter most.

It's quiet after that. He'd only let Kendall do his makeup a couple times before, and each time Kendall was so excited and twitchy that he screwed up something. But the lack of processed sugar out here must really have some effect, because right now he's solid as a rock, lips pressed together in concentration as he works, hand steady and deliberate. Logan watches when he can, when he doesn't have to look up or down, and every so often Kendall's bottom lip disappears between his teeth, and Logan has to stop watching.

Kendall scoots backward without a word when he's done, handing the knife back to Logan for inspection. The reflection's messy, a little distorted, but Logan can make out two perfectly lined eyes, a swirl spinning out beside each one, and lone music notes dotting his cheeks. It's what Logan would've done to himself, now or years ago or whenever. It's fucking perfect.

His face must show it, because he sees Kendall smile. "Okay?"

He smiles back and, you know, words tend to seem less interesting when he's focused on visual art like this, and instead of responding, he reaches a hand out to cup Kendall's face, pull him forward, and plant a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Go Kendall," James smirks.

Logan tries to glare at him but just ends up smiling as he eases Kendall back against the tree, reversing their positions and before he can think-or-not-think no, he finds himself crawling into Kendall's lap, one knee on either side of his thighs, and Kendall's kind of staring, open-mouthed and endearingly idiotic. When his lips move as if to say something, Logan touches a finger to them until they still.

Kendall's eyes stay closed the whole time, as long as they can until he has to look up, and when Logan moves to his cheekbones, they shut again.

Logan leans in, lips at Kendall's ear, and whispers without hesitation, "Open your eyes."

Kendall does.

He watches like his life is in Logan's hands, and that he couldn't be happier about it.

It's not until Logan moves from his face to his chest, starting a series of twirly, looping symbols vaguely reminiscent of Carlos's tattoo, that Kendall kind of stops breathing, starting up again erratically and stopping, until Logan can no longer draw with precision. But Kendall's skin is insanely soft, and Logan's never had so much of it at his disposal before, to do with as he pleases, and he kind of doesn't want to stop, but Kendall's almost trembling now and. Yeah.

He doesn't know what to make of it, and stops, stroking Kendall's arm gently before crawling off him and moving toward Carlos, who has been grinning smugly at his having escaped victimization thus far.

Logan smirks at him, and Carlos's face falls.

"I hate you," he announces preemptively.

"Shut up. You totally wanted this," Logan tell him before crawling into his lap, like they've done this every day forever and ever. Carlos handles it better than Kendall had, and his hands come to rest easily on Logan's hips at the first gentle swipe across his eyelid.

Logan takes it for granted, he thinks, how easy it is to be with Carlos, like this or in any context. How easy Carlos has always made it, how safe he makes Logan feel, and how he always knows what to say.

Only now he's leaning in whenever he gets the chance, whispering stupid, stupid shit into Logan's ear that makes him blush and slap Carlos's arm, and even though Logan can feel two intent sets of eyes on them, it doesn't feel strange the way he thinks it should.

After awhile, Logan catches James holding the camera up to his eyes like he's trying to focus it, trying to prepare the shot, almost instinctively, not even realizing the futility - and it breaks Logan's heart.

Even the insects seem to still, to silence their chorus, when Logan finally makes his way over to James, who's returned to staring down at his camera, hoping for invisibility.

He looks up at Logan, and Logan smiles, warm and soft. "Let me?"

James doesn't answer, doesn't have to, simply laying the camera aside and adjusting his posture, small smile set across his lips: a clear invitation.

It catches up with Logan maybe halfway through, when he finds his concentration slipping as he notices the way the muscles in James's arms flex as he shifts his position to give Logan better access. It catches up with him then, the way he's noticing, the way he'd apparently been noticing the stark deep brown of Carlos's eyes and the way they brightened when Logan came near (maybe, god, maybe the way they've always seemed brighter when Logan is close); the way Kendall's looking at him now when Logan turns briefly to meet his gaze. The way Kendall's eyes seem to be saying three words Logan won't even let himself hear in his head. And maybe - maybe the most striking fact of all - the fact that Kendall's simply looking at him exactly the way he's been looking at him for six years.

It's amazing, he thinks - what you notice when there's nothing around telling you you shouldn't.


	10. Chapter 10

_"Okay so. By 'practice,' I, uh, kind of meant babysitting."_

_Carlos stands in the open doorway, the little wooden sign boasting the carved words, "The Garcias," still swaying slightly from the momentum of swinging open the door with his strength. He blinks disbelievingly at Kendall, or more specifically, at his new attachment: a plump, bubbly-looking baby with big brown Knight eyes, a little jumper with a guitar on the front, and the words "Rock Star" underneath._

_Carlos blinks again. "What. Is that."_

_Kendall beams, bouncing her on his hip. "It's Katie!"_

_"Kendall, why is your sister here?"_

_"Because my mom was desperate and I needed the money, please, please, please, I'll be so bored if I have to stay in the house alone all night with her. James has got a thing and Logan's out with Slutty McSlutface, and..."_

_"Where are your parents?"_

_"Out. They're all at that church thing."_

_"I hate your religion," Carlos sighs, standing aside and shaking his head._

_"It's not mine, dude," Kendall reminds him, stepping inside. "I'm done with that shit."_

_"Hey! Language," Carlos chastises, gesturing at Katie, who is making grabs for Carlos's arm._

_Kendall grins stupidly. "Look at you."_

_"What?" Carlos glares warningly. "WHAT."_

_"You're a mom!"_

_"Get out."_

_"Awww, come on, it's sweet."_

_"Out."_

_"I can't, I need to make her formula. Here."_

_He transfers Katie into Carlos's arms to rifle through a massive tote bag, and Carlos relinquishies his hand to her tiny fingers, propping her tentaively on his hip. It's been ages since his brothers were this size, feels like another lifetime even, but now it just seems like riding a bike. He hadn't realized he'd missed this, having this warm little weight smushed up against him, watching and constantly in awe of his every move. He's pretty sure he'll change his tune when she starts screaming for no known reason, but for now, hey._

_"Hey, button," Carlos says softly. "You hungry?"_

_"'Course she is," Kendall coos, pulling himself upright with a bottle in hand._

_Carlos snatches it away. "Do you even know how to make formula?"_

_"Duh, you just. Like. Heat it up."_

_Carlos decides an emphatic eye roll expresses his point more effectively than words could, and he heads into the kitchen, baby and bottle in tow, and sets the latter down on the counter as he begins browsing through cupboards one-handed._

_"With my brothers," he explains, filling a pot with water and slapping it down on the stove, "there was a specific temperature we had to heat it to. If it was too cold, they wouldn't drink it, and if it was too hot, they'd burp too much and... do gross stuff."_

_Out of the corner of his eye he can see Kendall leaning against a counter. Quietly. Carlos assumes he's impressed._

_"You also want to - " He pauses to listen to Katie's incoherent, jarbled mumble of sounds, apparently an attempt to communicate. "Yeah? You think so?" He hoists her up a little from where she's slipping down his side. "Who gave you permission to be cute, huh? Huh?"_

_She flails her arm, and Carlos laughs._

_"This kid is totally gonna be famous someday." Turning back to the stove, he adds a few dashes of salt to speed up the boiling process. "Okay, so you also want to - "_

_Craning his neck around to catch Kendall's eye and ensure he's still paying attention, the sight sets him speechless. Kendall's eyes are, like, seriously fucking twinkling, darting between Carlos and the baby like he's witnessing some kind of miracle._

_"What?" Carlos asks suspiciously._

_"Nothing, I. You just." His voice is soft, too soft to be normal; to be right. "You're so good with her."_

_Carlos shrugs. "I've had practice."_

_"You'll be a really good dad someday."_

_"Not a mom?" he smirks wryly._

_Kendall smiles, but it doesn't light up his face the way it should. The way it always does. "No."_

_"Well. You will be too. I've seen you with your..." His free hand waves vaguely, searching for the appropriate word, "...family. Those kids love you."_

_Kendall laughs, dry and humorless, at the ground. "Yeah. Never gonna happen."_

_"What are you talking about?"_

_"You kinda have to like, get married. And. Have sex, and stuff."_

_'With a girl,' Carlos can hear trailing his words in the heavy silence. He'll never understand why Kendall won't just come out and say it, not even to him or Logan or James. Like any of them would fucking care, for fuck's sake. Like Carlos and Logan haven't already, y'know... whatever. But Carlos is not going to push it, and it's Kendall's own fucking responsibility to speak up, and he'll do it when he's ready, if he ever gets any balls, and that's that._

_Carlos nudges his arm, trying to smile encouragingly. "I'm pretty sure you're gonna have sex at some point in your life, Kendall. Maybe years and years and years and years from now, but - "_

_"Thank you, Carlos."_

_But he's at least smiling for real now, and that's a start._

_"Hey, dude, you don't have to get married. This is the twenty-first century. There are plenty of... y'know. Options."_

_"Maybe."_

_He's still staring at his shoes though, and fuck if a sad Kendall isn't like, the most depressing thing Carlos's ever seen._

_"You really want to be a father, don't you?"_

_Kendall shrugs. Kendall's many things, none of which are subtle, and it's a clear yes. It couldn't be more clear if he'd had an airplane scrawl it in the sky._

_Carlos pokes lightly at the sensitive, exposed bit of skin just below Kendall's t-shirt, and Katie leans over in Carlos's arms to do the same. "You will be. If I have to see to it myself."_

_Kendall finally looks up, because, yeah, okay, seriously, wording. Fail._

_"You gonna knock me up, Garcia?"_

_"Count on it."_

_"Better make an honest woman out of me."_

_"Whatever, slut."_

_And yeah, he's pretty sure he just made a vow to marry and impregnate his gay male bandmate, but if it makes Kendall smile the way he's smiling now, eyes bright and wide and so easy to get lost in... Carlos kind of doesn't care._

_The water's boiling, and neither of them notices._

_"_Okay. Okay, ready? Watch. Logan, is he watching?"

"He's watching, Jesus, go."

Carlos twists his head around. "Hi James."

"Hi Carlos's ass."

"Hello Carlos's ass indeed," Kendall concurs.

"Shut up, you perv."

"For fuck's sake, go!" Logan snaps, and Abu makes a noise of agreement in his arms.

In response, Kendall takes a few steps backward, like he's one of those little wind-up McDonald's toys, and bolts forward toward James and Carlos, who are lined up one in front of the other, crouched and folded on all fours, their legs tucked under them and heads resting on their arms. Kendall takes a flying leap and hops first over James, then another over Carlos, and lands sprawling on the ground, sand flying everywhere, face flushed in triumph.

"Leap frog is seriously the most pointless game in the universe," Carlos sighs, dropping his head down to the sand.

"Okay. His turn. Let him go," Kendall says to Logan, and Logan sets Abu down on the ground, nudging him forward a bit. Missing his objective by a few steps, Abu crawls eagerly over to Carlos and climbs up onto him, settling down flush against his back with his arms around Carlos's neck.

"Awww!" comes from Kendall's direction. Carlos looks up to see him glance at Logan, who's grinning, and okay, this officially counts as a win.

If there were a camera now, Carlos thinks (trying, trying not to think of Guitar Dude), a slow, circular pan would begin - a continuous, unbroken shot across the four faces as they sit in a square, eyes darting up and down, across and around, trying to read the other sets of eyes while keeping their own neutral and guarded. The firelight casts a low, dusky glow over them all, adding a splash of intrigue to their faces. Logan's the best at this, theoretically; there's no doubt. It's far more work for him to add expression into his features than to remove it. James is good because he practiced in front of the mirror for years. Carlos is pretty decent because he just sets his face to glare mode no matter the circumstances, and it's working well enough so far.

Kendall is surprisingly less than shitty, and maybe he's been taking deadpan lessons from Logan, but Carlos is pretty sure it's beginner's luck, because the pile of seashells in front of his lap is about eight times the size of any of theirs and he hasn't. lost. once.

Something clearly needs to be done about this.

Kendall draws in a low, calculating breath, and raises an eyebrow. "Mitchell?"

Logan shakes his head, short and sulky, and slaps his cards face-down on the blanket.

"Diamond?"

James studies him for a long moment before dropping a few of his shells carefully into the pile. "I'm in."

"Garcia?"

"Baby, I am so far in you're gonna feel me for days."

Logan chokes on his water and coughs for twenty seconds straight. No one bothers to clap a hand on his back, but Abu pulls concernedly at his hair. James throws his head back and laughs, and Kendall. Kendall blushes.

"Seduction will get you nowhere, Garcia."

"That is bullshit, Knight."

Carlos works himself up to the steamy little smirk-cum-eyebrow-quirk he hasn't used in ages on anyone; years on a boy. (But god, did it ever work, and it's really hard not to set it on Logan now for old times' sake. But Logan's kind of, y'know, dying over there, and besides, there are more important things at stake here.)

Kendall blushes harder and shoves about a third of his shells into the center pile. Carlos bites his lip and shoves his entire pile forward.

There are gasps and murmered mutterings of "Jesus" and "fuck," and for the first time all evening, Kendall looks something close to nervous.

"Drumroll please," James says, and Carlos smiles at him.

"Kendall first."

Kendall's back to smug instantly, fanning his cards out and splaying them down on the ground for all to see, grinning mad with a creepy, triumphant glint in his eyes. "In a pure burst of irony... straight flush."

James lets out a whoop, Logan huffs in disgust (worst loser ever, seriously), and Kendall leans out toward the pile of shells in the middle, arms outstretched.

"Just. One. Minute."

In a quick, unexpected move, Carlos's snapped his free arm outward and wrapped his fingers around both of Kendall's wrists at once, holding them tight in place.

He licks his lips, gaze darting from Kendall's eyes to his mouth, and Kendall gulps. "Not so fast, love."

Breathing stops all around the fire as Carlos releases his wrists and slowly, unassumingly, lays his cards down in front of him, forcing everyone to lean in and stretch out their necks to see.

"Oh my god!" Logan gawks, shoving proudly at Carlos. "A fucking royal flush? Fuck yeah!"

"Dude, marry me," James grins, and Carlos beams at him.

Kendall stares blankly, open-mouthed and horrified, as Carlos makes an elaborate show of scooping up the collective pile of shells. Abu leaps down from Logan's lap to help, which consists of picking up shells and tossing them in the direction of the water.

"Sorry, sweetpea," Carlos coos at Kendall, winking as he kisses a particularly dandy-looking seashell.

Kendall sticks out his tongue and James drops his head to Kendall's lap in sympathy, and. Fuck the clothes, the sunscreen, the fruit valley; it's the fucking theme deck at the bottom of James's suitcase ("assorted alcoholic beverages"; James is so predictable) that's going to be all they'll ever need to survive.

It's monthly tradition now, setting up a flammable arrangement of the word on the strip of beach beside camp, each one taking responsibility for a letter. Kendall's "writing" is inevitably like, twice the size of everyone else's, so he gets H; Logan gets E because he makes better straight lines than anyone else (and yeah, the jokes still circulate); Carlos and James take over L and P so they can work side by side and fling leaves at each other.

It's a surprisingly tedious process, taking at least a couple hours to collect enough supplies, and it's always a bittersweet finish. Setting it ablaze and sitting back to watch the glorious sight as nothing happens: an accomplished failure. Every time they do it, it feels more automatic, more pointless - going through the motions with no conviction. It's like they've got one of those enchanted roses from Beauty and the Beast, each petal representing their hope, their likeliness of being found; and each month, another one breaks off and flutters to the ground.

Today, the first of December, Logan has decorated his cheeks with candy canes and holly leaves, black as night. He thinks of symbolism and tries not to.

James is just completing the stem of his P when the sky cracks, sun drowning behind an onset of clouds, thunder reverberating through their chests, and the rain has them waterlogged in seconds. The candy canes and leaves are bleeding charcoal down his face, making him look bruised, broken.

Logan turns to stalk off, muttering something about going to the caves, and trips over Abu.

"Jesus fuck, he is fucking always underfoot!"

It's suddenly silent enough that no one even hears the rain.

"Don't yell at my baby," Kendall says quietly, as Abu scampers over and wraps himself around Kendall's calf.

"Jesus, Kendall, swear to god, sometimes it's like you - "

- love him more than you love me.

He hears the last bit, foggy and distant, and he can't tell if he's hearing it in his head or if it's echoing in his ears; if he actually said it out loud or not, and he desperately prays not, because he doesn't mean it, it's ridiculous and irrational and Logan doesn't do irrational, especially when there's no way even he can argue rationality out of it, and besides, besides, it's not like Kendall still loves-loves him anyway, or ever did, and even if he did, Logan wouldn't deserve it, and even if - and -

Kendall blinks at him. "It's like I what?"

Shaken but relieved, Logan shakes his head, ironically thankful for the rain as it conceals the salty sting of drops welling up over his lashes, hindering his already weak line of vision. He takes off without looking back, thinking about how much perception can change depending on what's clouding our eyes.

It's not the first time James notices that Carlos is kind of, you know. Whatever. Okay. Carlos's a decent-looking dude. That's. That's fine. He's. Yeah.

Fuck it, okay, he's gorgeous. And James is not the kind of pussy who's going to try to justify it by insisting Carlos looks like a chick, because Carlos totally does not look like a chick, and the last three months have seen to it that he's gotten all this, like. Definition and stuff. He's all toned and his tummy is kind of disappearing and James totally, totally misses it, like, stupid amounts.

But still, yeah, Carlos's kind of gorgeous. Whatever.

And it's not the first time James notices; not even the first time he admits it. It's just the first time he's all Kendally about it, obvious and shameless and kind of pathetic.

It starts like this.

"How did we get conned into fetching water?"

Carlos smiles at him. "Because all the manly jobs were finished and it was this or cooking."

There's a comfortable silence for a few seconds as James lets his mind wander. "Maybe it's the heat getting to me, but I just got this really disturbing image of Logan in a frilly apron."

Carlos tosses his head back and laughs. "Dude, I have an actual image of that. When we were eleven and twelve, my mom said we needed to start earning our keep so she made us help with dinner one night. It was totally like, yellow checkered with ruffles."

"Oh my god, that's awesome. Can I tell him I know this?"

Carlos beams. "Just wait'll I'm around so I can see his face."

"Deal."

They keep moving forward, their spears doubling as walking sticks, water buckets dangling from ropes around their waists, until the trail curves and their line of vision shifts, and on the ground in front of them, like a little troll guarding the path against intruders, is some kind of. Monkey... thing. Black with a whitish, bearded face, super long Logan-like arms, and white hands. It looks kind of like a deformed Oreo.

James stretches out an arm in front of Carlos's chest on instinct, and for a moment the three of them stare blankly, almost cordially at one another, until the creature lets out a wail that must mean something very clear to his friends, who respond from various distances, and leaps off the path into the nearest tree, vanishing from sight.

James wonders if his own eyes are as wide as Carlos's right now, and they must be, he must look ridiculous, because Carlos explodes into laughter. It takes James a second to catch up, but soon he's followed, lost in the moment and the way Carlos's eyes crinkle up when he's so far gone like this.

"Dude - dude - " Carlos starts, trying to reclaim oxygen and bracing himself with a hand on James's shoulder. "You know who he looked like?"

"Not - oh my god. Oh my god."

"From our first tour, what was that guy's name?"

"The tech - "

"Yes, dude, oh my god - it was - "

"Jerry!" they shriek in unison, and oh my god, it's totally. Yes. This dude had a bushy blond beard and crazy long arms and weird short legs and the same sort of eternally startled expression and holy shit.

They're both practically doubled over as the realization sinks in deeper, until they're not even laughing anymore, just trembling in silent hysterics until Carlos ventures to collect himself first, taking in choppy gulps of air until he starts breathing normally, until he probably doesn't need to be supporting himself on James's shoulder anymore, and yet he totally is.

He's still smiling, and so is James, and it's weird how their outburst seems to have eaten up a lot of the distance between them, because Carlos's close, really close, and his eyes are all the cliches right now, but it still makes James sort of stop breathing for a second.

It ends like this:

Carlos stops smiling. He's not frowning, and his eyes are still twinkling, but something has registered in his features and James doesn't know what it is, because Carlos's eyes are everywhere, all over James's face like they're looking for something. James doesn't know if whatever he's looking for is there, or how to make it available, but he stops thinking about that because Carlos's face seems to be getting even closer and James's pretty sure that's not just the heat.

Not that kind of heat, anyway.

Against all his brain's protests, his eyes have already made the decision to drop down to Carlos's mouth, studying the flushed pink, the trickling bead of sweat that's slipping across his lower lip, when deformed-Oreo-monkey lets out another screech, setting off his companions in the most unattractive chorus to ever strike James's ears.

Suddenly he and Carlos are laughing again, and walking again, and it's okay, it's okay, because nothing's weird, at all, and that's kind of all that matters.

That, and the fact that Carlos's walking a few inches closer now, and every so often their arms brush. And that's not weird, either.

"Right, okay, and then she like, starts grabbing my hair to yank me forward, so my teeth get like, totally smashed, right, and then she starts complaining that I'm using my teeth."

"Dude, what the fuck?!"

"Fucking women, man!"

Carlos chuckles, shaking his head. "I can't believe you ever actually went down on a girl, Kendall. That takes a lot of hetero."

"Fuck, whatever, I was eighteen, I just wanted to get laid."

"How gentlemanly of you."

"Oh come on, you can't tell me you actually like it."

Carlos shrugs, wrinkling his nose. "It's... not that bad."

Abu squeaks some sort of commentary from where he's perched on Kendall's shoulders.

"Like, here's how I figure."

"Okay."

"A dick is totally, like, self-contained, right? It doesn't get messy till the end, and you can totally pull off if you want."

"Right."

"But with pussy, it's like... it's all just out there, man."

Carlos is still laughing. "Okay, dude, but like. What about the sex part? Like okay, I get if you're topping it's awesome because it's so tight and all, but if you're bottoming, seriously, what are you actually getting out of it?"

Kendall looks at him like Carlos just told him he never wanted a corndog again. Not so much with disappointment, just utter confusion.

"Are you kidding me? Dude. Oh my god. You don't know what you're missing."

Well, we never quite got that far hangs on the edge of Carlos's tongue, but he remembers to bite it back at the last second. He's not ready for that to be Something, for it to be acknowledged by anyone else.

"Look, I have this friend, okay, he's like, the best fuck I've ever had in my life, and he's really cool, right, so when we get home, I'm calling him up and you can tell Stephanie it's my fault, but you are totally letting this dude in your pants because you haven't lived until he's fucked you."

"I don't think you should quite word it that way for Stephanie."

"Yeah. Maybe not."

They share a smile, and Abu reaches out to tug at Carlos's hair, yanking him close and knocking his and Kendall's heads together.

"Ow!" they whine in unison, laughing.

"Snarky bitch," Carlos mutters affetionately, tousling the wiry hair on Abu's head.

"Hey, when we get back to camp, I - "

Carlos is still teasing Abu, trying to high-five him (they've been working on it for days, and Abu's almost got it down), that he doesn't notice Kendall's stopped walking until he bumps into him, and it's not his vision that catches him up. He doesn't follow Kendall's eyes at first; it's the pillar-stiff feeling of Kendall's body as he runs into him; the frozen, motionless mass that reminds Carlos of that one creepy-ass trip he and Logan made to the wax museum ("Never again, dude - never - again"). He doesn't even feel like Kendall; not bouncy or wiggly or jumpy; not pliant and stretchy like a cat, not soft. Not even warm.

And all this occurs to him in the space of maybe half a second, just enough time for his brain to kick back into gear, and. He looks. Only then, does he follow the line of Kendall's eyes, and it's. Possibly the weirdest feeling ever.

Carlos knows fear. It's not like he spent his childhood cloaked in it, but he knows what it feels like. The first time he played live for an audience. The time he was on vacation, helpless and hundreds of miles away, and Logan sent him a text message saying his dad was seriously fucked up and he didn't know what to do, and then wouldn't answer his phone for two hours while Carlos tried to call. The first time James got into an argument with any of them, and Carlos's heart pounding, screaming a rhythm of stay, stay, please stay.

He knows fear, the way his heart speeds up and, if it's bad enough, the way he starts sweating, cold sweat like with nightmares and fever chills, but the way his skin still heats up nonetheless. He knows that heat, that fire.

It's not like this.

This is like a ball of lava just got dropped down your throat and is settling comfortably in your stomach, bubbling, boiling, simmering, and you can't move because it'll explode. It doesn't make much sense, but Carlos's brain isn't working at full capacity right now.

Maybe because there's kind of a giant fucking tiger like ten feet away from them.

And there's no glass or fence/moat arrangement like at the zoo. They're not craning their necks to catch a glimpse of it far up a grassy hill by some caves, cameras poised and zoom lenses stretched. There isn't a little plaque on the front of the fence with its photo, saying where it came from and how old it is.

It's just. There.

He finds Kendall's hand squeezing the circulation right out of his own, and has no idea how long it's been there.

"Kendall."

Kendall squeezes tighter in acknowledgment.

"Don't. Move."

"Kay."

Kendall's voice sounds small, so small, smaller than when he told his parents he wasn't going to college, that he was going to LA with the band, and Logan, James, and Carlos stood behind him, ready to throw punches, verbal or otherwise.

Carlos is still trying to will his mind into submission, into practicality and sense, when Abu lets out a sudden screech, making a grab for Carlos's spear and hurling it weakly in the tiger's direction.

The only word screaming itself in Carlos's subconscious at the moment is FAIL, and just, fuck Kendall and his real-life use of Internet lingo, and it's almost, almost funny, hysterical even, until the tiger takes a step forward and something clearly dissatisfied rumbles out of his throat, teeth bared.

That's kind of the moment everything becomes clear.

Carlos lives for those moments, when the practicality falls into place and he knows he's made the right decision, can see the fruits of the outcome before it's even happened, and he can let himself settle with it and be satisfied.

It... doesn't quite feel like that now.

It feels like kind of the opposite.

"Kendall."

"Yeah."

"Put him down."

It hurts preemptively, a hard clenching in his chest that only magnifies tenfold when Kendall turns to look at him, so innocently like he must have heard him wrong.

"What?"

"Put him down."

"The fuck is wrong with you?"

Ironically, the tiger's making this easier. His eyes aren't on them at all, but on the little creature perched atop Kendall's shoulders, the little creature who doesn't remember what his mother looked like.

"Kendall, put him down. It's us or him."

"Then it's us."

"Are you fucking crazy? Do it."

"No!"

"Kendall, if Logan fucking loses you - "

Kendall's face pales, tormented with a colliding mass of confusion, sudden awareness, anger, panic. Carlos never, ever wants to see it again.

"DO IT."

But Kendall's frozen, eyes on fire and showing every last drop of pain. He isn't moving, and Carlos finally realizes it's because he can't.

The liquid fire in his stomach churns and fights as he reaches up, fast, too fast to not be sneaky about it, gently lifting Abu into his arms and placing him carefully down on the ground in front of him before Kendall can stop him.

But Kendall's right there, lunging forward, and Carlos has got him tight, arms around his middle and yanking him backward a few steps, out of the line of fire, and Kendall's fighting so relentlessly that they fall backward, landing on the hard ground and Carlos barely has time to register the sharp hiss of pain that settles into where he landed on his hip before he's back on his feet, pulling Kendall up. He can vaguely hear himself saying Run, run, just fucking run, and Kendall tries to fight but Carlos's dragging him by the hand now, and Kendall seems to catch on that he's going to be dragged no matter what, either roughly along the ground or by the hand if he chooses to cooperate.

In the end he jerks away, tearing off by himself back toward camp, and Carlos's close on his heels, trying to make as much noise as possible with his feet, with brushing branches out of his way, so neither of them will hear the screams as the tiger lunges for his target.

He doesn't quite succeed.

It's like taking eighty-five steps backward when they finally tumble out onto the beach in a heap (like leaving fucking Narnia or something, only there's no Aslan to save them here), it's like they haven't left those first days at all, like they're right back where they started, no further and no closer to surviving, to pulling themselves up, to making it. Kendall falls into a little ball, crying and fisting his hands in the sand and it's the most sickening deja vu, it's what Carlos never wanted to see again and he is, it's here, right in his face, and it's his own fucking fault.

He let Logan bring Abu back to camp, he let Kendall come with him without taking a spear of his own ("I can't, I need both hands for Abu"), it's his fucking fault and maybe it's been his fault forever, maybe they'd never be here and Kendall never would've lost Guitard Dude if Carlos had spilled everything years ago, told Kendall all of Logan's secrets because Logan was too emo and pigheaded to do it himself, and they wouldn't be here, and he wouldn't be broken, and Carlos wouldn't be cradling his tiny, trembling body in his arms while Kendall cries loud enough to draw James and Logan from camp, and Carlos wouldn't be praying that someday Kendall will forgive him.

James's lap is warm, perfectly soft and firm in all the right spots; his folded thigh pillowing Kendall's head is just the right shape to make him feel secure. James's fingers have been stroking through damp, sand-matted hair in a slow, unbroken rhythm for the better part of an hour, and it's lulled Kendall into a zombified sort of state, unresponsive but calm, and the dried tears on his cheek are starting to tickle.

He hasn't looked at Carlos, hasn't said a word. Not - it's not. It's not like that. He's not angry at him, not really. It's just. Kendall's trying to extract himself from the incident as much as possible, and Carlos. Was kind of a key participant.

Logan, predictably, has managed to snatch a bit of the spotlight for himself by acting like it's his fault.

Kendall winces even thinking the words. It's so unfair, so wrong. He doesn't mean it. The look in in Logan's eyes, the way he tried to touch Kendall. Kendall felt that. He felt Logan's desperation, his determinedness to comfort and fix and love, and it's unfair of Kendall to belittle it, to discount it.

Then again, there's a lot that's unfair now.

Logan picks up his guitar three days later for the first time since the incident, but he doesn't play.

He just holds it, fingers skimming soundlessly over the frets.

It's been quiet. The insects, the rain, the waves, have been louder. It reminds them where they are. And Kendall - Kendall's fine with that. He's okay with where they are. It's what happens here that keeps mindfucking him to hell and back. He can't decide if the good outweighs the bad. He thinks of Guitar Dude, of Jett and Freight Train and Abu, and he thinks. No.

Then he thinks of Logan's smile, open and free like he'd never seen it outside the island; thinks of the feeling of him pressed up against Kendall's side, skin on skin; of his lips soft against Kendall's; he thinks of James's inventions and Carlos's triumphs; thinks of the nights they've spent leaning up against one another on the plateau of the highest cliff, watching perfect sunset after perfect sunset; and now he doesn't know what to think.

Tonight, Logan leans in, whispers into James's ear, and James tugs gently at Kendall's wrist.

"Do you want him to play?" he asks softly, just loud enough for Kendall only.

Kendall looks up, and Logan is watching him with wide, scared eyes. Kendall nods.

He doesn't pay attention to what Logan is playing; it's soft and he doesn't recognize it, and his mind is too many elsewheres to think of what that means: that he knows every song Logan knows, because he taught them all the Logan, except this one. That maybe, this song started here. That maybe no one else in the world has heard it, either.

Logan works up to what may or may not be a bridge, when his e-string snaps, shooting up and falling limp against the wood, dead and useless, never to be recovered.

Logan's still plucking a handful of broken, stray notes before he fully processes what's happened, and his playing falls to nothing, dying out on slighty flat C.

Everyone watches him, but he doesn't look up. It's disturbing how visible it all is, the way his breath shortens and quickens, the way his fingers tense and his shoulders stiffen.

No one misses what this means - that it's not about this.

Kendall holds his breath, waiting for Logan to leap to his feet and smash the instrument against the tree or drop it into the fire, because it's Logan and he'd do that (hell, he's done that), but Logan only stands quietly, propping the guitar carefully against the tree, and steps away from camp, growing smaller and smaller as he heads down the beach.

Kendall looks down at the places in the blanket where Logan stepped; at the dips and curves in the sand underneath. It's not right for him not to be here right now. There are times when Kendall can go days, weeks if he has to, without seeing Logan and he's fine. Other times it's only seconds - Logan leaving the back lounge to get a snack, to take a bathroom break; stepping back into his own stage space after sharing Kendall's mic - before Kendall starts feeling something he hasn't let himself define, but in his head sounds a lot like incomplete.

No one speaks for an hour, until Carlos starts pacing.

James lets him pace for a minute, seeming to know the precise moment that's right for him to stand up, cross over to Carlos, curl a hand around his hip, and whisper something in his ear.

Carlos nods.

James is magic, but Carlos is Carlos, and thirty seconds later, he's back to pacing.

"He's not back."

"He's probably at the caves, Los," James offers softly.

"It's getting dark. He's not - no. He's not there. Something's not right. It doesn't feel - no. I just."

Kendall pulls himself to his feet, his first movement in hours, and feels his joints protesting. "I'll go."

Carlos looks at him, skeptical, making sure to lock their eyes before speaking. "I think he's - "

Kendall watches his eyes, registers, nods.

He grabs for a spear and takes off down the beach, down the shimmering stretch of wave-washed sand, still too lost to realize Carlos just spoke to him without words, and Kendall heard.

_"Logan? You still in there?"_

_Kendall wipes his palms on the front of his jeans for the eighteenth time, and it's pointless now; he's sweating so hard the front of his pants are practically drenched._

_What. He's not nervous. He's played live. Well, if you count marching band, church choir, and an audience of Carlos's extended family at Thanksgiving. But hey, it's cool. It's all totally fucking cool and awesome and shit. Carlos and James can't come and, y'know, that's okay, maybe it'll be easier, just him and Logan, a couple of guitars, a few acoustic tracks for the head of their record label. Nothing big._

_"Logan?"_

_There's no sound on the other side of the door, at least not that Kendall can tell, but then again, his heart is pounding pretty loudly in his ears right now._

_"Logie?"_

_He tries the handle and it gives, allowing him to press the door open, carefully, and the sight - well, shit, it's Logan, it could be worlds worse. But as it is, Kendall's heart still does a weird floppy thing that has nothing to do with nerves._

_"Logan... shit. Hey. C'mere."_

_He drops to the floor, immediately feeling the sting of pain as his knees collide with the hard ceramic beneath the thin, frayed mat, and he cups his hands over Logan's iron-hard fists that rest on his knees, his upper body hunched forward and swaying slightly back and forth, his eyes squeezed shut so tight you'd think there was poison in the air._

_"Jesus. Hey, relax, open your eyes."_

_Logan shakes his head furiously._

_"Dude, hey. Come on. It's okay. I'm here. Talk to me."_

_Logan shakes his head._

_Kendall leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to each of Logan's balled-up hands, confident he's not going to be shoved off at a time like this. "Are you scared?"_

_Logan is unresponsive for so long Kendall's pretty sure he's ignoring him or zoned out completely, and just as he's about to let his eyes wander, darting around the room for answers, Logan nods. Quick and short, concise, but unmistakable._

_"Hey. No. No, don't be scared. Why are you scared?"_

_Finally Logan's eyes lift, shocking in their wet shine, in the expanded mass of black smudgings the tears have caused. "What if he doesn't like us?"_

_"Dude, he's already heard our stuff. He likes us."_

_"But what if he doesn't? What if I fuck up the bridge again, or, what if I just don't... look right, or..."_

_"Logan! He's one guy! Fuck him if he dosen't like us!"_

_"Kendall, you don't fucking get it!" Logan leaps up, trying to pace in the tiny space of the bathroom, only succeeding due to his size (or lack thereof). "This is our one chance, if we fuck this up, we - "_

_"- Wait for the next chance," Kendall says softly, pulling himself to his feet and catching Logan's hands in his, waiting for eye contact to continue. Logan does a decent job of avoiding it for a good while, shaking his head and staring aimlessly at the ground, at everywhere but Kendall until Kendall gives his fingers a squeeze. "Logan. It's one guy. It's only such a big deal because you have to succeed at everything."_

_Logan glares hotly through his smudged makeup, but Kendall only smiles._

_"Listen. This is our chance with him. Last time I checked there were about eighty billion record labels out there. One of them, probably dozens of them, will want us. Will want you. You're..."_

_Logan looks at him then, out through gaps in the black curtains of his perfectly straightened fringe - expectant and desperate, because it's still those days when he has to cling to any assurance anyone will offer that he's worth something._

_"Logan, you're brilliant. Fuck, I - I believe in you and us so much I gave up my fucking hockey career for this."_

_"I'm sorry," Logan squeaks at the floor._

_Kendall squeezes his hands until Logan looks at him again. "Don't be. I'm not. I haven't regretted this for one second."_

_Logan's eyes stay fixed on him for a long time, like he's trying to decide whether to believe him, and it's clear he does, but it's also clear a large part of him wants to fight it, doesn't want to let himself trust anything, anyone._

_And when he sinks into Kendall's arms, letting the younger boy wrap him up and keep him close, Kendall realizes the trust he's just earned is worth more than a thousand contracts, more than Griffin, more than fame, even more than family._

_Besides, he thinks, Logan is family enough. More than enough._

It shouldn't be shocking, but it is.

Or maybe it should be, but it isn't.

Kendall can't tell; everything feels kind of backwards when he completes his climb to the top cliff and spots Logan, face to the open expanse of sky and sea, and feet balanced sickeningly on the ledge, toes poking out over the edge with no solid footing. Even from a dozen feet away, Kendall can see his entire body trembling, the evening wind whipping through the mess of curls on his head, causing his tiny frame to wobble slightly, like if Kendall breathes wrong he'll tip over. Off.

And. Off. Over. Down. Jesus. Fuck. Okay. Breathe. Or, no, don't.

There aren't really thoughts for this kind of moment.

He must let out some kind of choked noise of protest because Logan turns around, eyes flashing and panicked, both guilt-ridden and furious at being caught.

"No," Kendall says simply, calmly. His vocabulary has maybe regressed eighteen or so years, but no seems good enough.

Logan doesn't answer. Doesn't yell at Kendall to leave him alone, because of course Kendall won't. He just stares, like maybe he's waiting. Whether for a reason to jump or a reason not to, Kendall has no fucking clue, and this is possibly the most terrified he's been in his life, and wow, okay, that's a new feeling.

"Do you realize?" Logan starts, voice as shaky as the rest of him, "when the rest of those strings break, I might never play music again for the rest of my life?"

"So. Okay." Kendall nods carefully, takes a step forward, trying to be as stupidly stealthy as possible, because if he can just reach Logan, he can yank him back and they can figure the rest out later. "So you figure it would be better idea, obviously, to just end it now?"

And yeah, he's maybe really terrible at this.

"Just - shut up, Kendall, okay? Just go."

"No."

"Please."

"Fuck you, Logan."

"Fuck you, okay? You don't fucking know what this feels like!"

And that. Okay.

There's a lot Kendall's put up with from Logan over the years, and a lot he's capable of putting up with, a lot he's still willing to put up with, but. Sometimes it's not just guitar strings that break.

"Right," Kendall says, nodding to himself. "Okay. You know what? You're right."

Logan turns fully from the ledge now, still just as dangerously close, but facing Kendall, and Kendall's going to count that as a win.

"You're right, I have no fucking idea what that feels like. To think I might never touch my own guitar again as long as I live? Never see my family again? Never play another show or smoke another joint? Yeah. It feels like fucking shit, Logan. But - "

"Fuck you, it's different, music is all I fucking have! I'm never going to create anything that is of any significance"

"Yeah, well Guitar Dude was all I fucking had, and he's fucking gone!"

And it's not what he means to say at all; it's out of left field and only partly true, but they're the first words that seem to echo out around them, through the wind and across the whole fucking ocean, and for a second, Kendall panics, because Logan's got like a whole fucking ocean of his own streaming down his face, when his eyes were dry only seconds ago.

"You - you have us," Logan's spluttering, and it almost sounds like a question, like he's not sure if it's a good enough offer. "You - you have me."

"I've fucking never had you!"

"You've had me every fucking day since the moment I met you!"

"That is bullshit! That is fucking bullshit, Logan!"

And there's a really scary delay in recognition, because the words are out, on both sides, before Kendall even realizes this is happening, out loud and right here in reality and he didn't just say that, and Logan didn't just, no, and this isn't real, it's just, it isn't.

But Kendall doesn't have any more time to catch up, to try to reason this out, because Logan's crying now, the way Kendall's only seen a couple times in his life and can't stand to again.

"I'm not - I can't - I can't let it end like this, Ken, I'm - don't you fucking get it? No one's coming for us, we're not fucking getting out of here! This is like a fucking snowman in the sun, just, inevitably sinking, it's only a matter of time before we get killed or lose our minds and there's - it wasn't supposed to be like this, none of this!"

"Then tell me. Okay? How was it supposed to be for you, Logan? Because I can tell you how it was supposed to be for me, and it wasn't supposed to end with my boyfriend dying, so maybe you can just trash your fucking pity party for once in your fucking life and realize you're not the only one suffering and that maybe I've been suffering six fucking years for you!"

"I'm SORRY! Fuck, Jesus, Kendall, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry - "

And it doesn't sound like an apology for blowing up, or for scaring him, it doesn't sound like an I'm-sorry-he's-gone, an I'm-sorry-you're-hurting, it sounds like so much more, like a genuine plea for forgiveness, and Kendall can't figure it the fuck out because between one I'm-sorry and the next, Logan's lost it, crying too hard to make full words anymore, taking steps backwards like he's shrinking away from something, not even realizing where he's going or what he's doing, only, yeah, he'd finally turned around to face Kendall so now backwards means backwards, and there's maybe a few inches left of ground before - okay - and there's still too much Kendall's trying to catch up with in his head to even realize what this means until one moment Logan's in front of him, breaking to pieces before his eyes, maybe, but here, solid and alive and fixable.

The next, the only thing in front of Kendall's eyes is another perfect sunset.


	11. Chapter 11

**Don't expect two chapters in one day again buuuuut I couldn't leave it like that :) (I'm a big softie, haha)**

_There aren't really a lot of Logans in Kendall's middle school._

_There are a shit ton of jocks, plenty of preps, and a strong skateboarding crowd, but the few emos are late catching up; most still lean heavier on the side of goth, take added inspiration from the Vegas scene, and kind of just freak Kendall the fuck out._

_So when James mentions Logan for the first time, Kendall's kind of expecting another James, and on the first ride over to Carlos's house where they'll be meeting and jamming together, the only flip-flops in his stomach are from never having like, been on a friend double date before. That's just. Weird._

_Some experimental beats on a drumkit, the kind you'd hear before a set, grow louder as James swings open the basement door and Kendall follows him down the stairs. There's so much fucking shit everywhere that it's all Kendall notices at first - amps and instruments and crates and old exercise equipment and a giant fucking Barbie Dream House - and he's being introduced before he's even lifted his eyes._

_"This is Kendall. Kendall, Carlos."_

_Carlos smiles and waves a drumstick in greeting, and Kendall waves back shyly, sliding a hand through his hair. "Hey."_

_"Where's Logan?" James asks._

_"Getting drinks because Carlos's a lazy-ass."_

_Kendall turns around at the sound of the voice and forgets where he is. He forgets why he's here and what instruments he plays and his date of birth and possibly his own name._

_Yeah, it's like that._

_He forgets pretty much everything but what's in front of him: the dark fringe of hair that Logan flips out of his eyes with a flick of his head, the pink Fall Out Boy tee hugging his tiny frame, the jut of his hipbones visible beneath, just over the top of a pair of girls' skinny jeans, and Kendall knows they're girls' because he maybe kind of has the same pair. They look a thousand times better on Logan. Then again, the guts of rotted fish would probably look good on Logan._

_Logan smiles, small and bemused, taking the last step down to the basement floor until he and Kendall are eye-level, and hands Carlos a fizzing, ice-filled glass of Coke._

_He hasn't stopped looking at Kendall, and extends his newly freed hand. "Hi."_

_Kendall takes it on instinct, and it's cold and damp from the glass, which is really awesome because Kendall's pretty sure the room's about a thousand degrees right now, and his fingers - Jesus fucking Christ, this dude's fingers are long. He'd be an amazing pianist, and no, Kendall is totally not already having images of him seated at the keys, fingers sweeping nimbly across them, the long line of his neck exposed as he leans over slightly and OH MY GOD._

_A thousand degrees, seriously._

_"I'm Logan."_

_"I'm. Uh. Hi."_

_In Kendall's head, at that moment, a long, long line of exclamation marks paired haphazardly with question marks streams through his brain. He's pretty sure he hears Carlos snort, but it doesn't sound mean, it just sounds... unsurprised._

_Logan smiles. "And... you're Kendall?"_

_"Yeah. Sorry. Hi."_

_"Hi." Logan releases his hand. "So, thanks for coming."_

_"No, it's - yeah, totally, thanks for, uh. Yeah."_

_Logan and Carlos share a look that means absolutely nothing to Kendall but seems to carry an entire fucking conversation for them. He'd be jealous, but there isn't much room in his brain right now for any emotions other than 'blguhrph.'_

_"What did you guys want to do today?" Logan asks, turning back to him._

_"I, um. I do a really good Gollum impression?"_

_Oh, wow._

_That. Seriously. There - there has to be an award for that. Right now Kendall is fully blown away by his own capacity for complete and total loserdom, and he already knew his capacity was sky-high._

_But Carlos laughs and Logan grins and says, "Do it."_

_Oh Jesus fuck._

_Kendall gears up his voice, clears his throat, offers a mental fuck-you to the part of his brain that's laughing and pointing at him, and launches into one of the better "my precious" soliloquies, complete with crouching and gesturing, ever the performer, losing himself even further in the character as the others start to crack up._

_"See, I told you he could do anything," James smiles, and Kendall fights to keep his cheeks their normal ghostly-pale and not think of all the anythings he'd love to do to Logan right now._

_"That's fuckin' sweet, dude," Carlos grins._

_Logan's smiling too, but it seems to be against his better judgment. "So."_

_"So! Yeah. Um. I, uh. You guys know any Radiohead?"_

_Logan and Carlos share another conversation-look and a smile, and Logan says, "Go for it."_

_Kendall does, even adding in the solo bit he'd made up himself, forcing the chords to fade Logan from the forefront of his mind. He's suddenly remembering why he loves music, until out of nowhere, midway through, a voice joins his guitar, and he looks up to see Logan at the mic stand across the room, eyes locked on Kendall's, but Kendall can scarcely hear his voice over the sound of his own heartbeat._

_He spends three minutes and thirty seconds willing himself not to fall. When Kendall falls, he doesn't tend to get back up very easily, and when he does, something's always broken._

_At the end, Kendall opens his mouth to harmonize, catching the tail end of Logan's note, and Logan visibly melts._

_James blinks, and Carlos stares with his mouth open, but he's staring at Logan, and Logan's staring at Kendall, and Kendall..._

_Kendall falls._

_Then, there, that moment. That's when he falls, and all he can do is wait for Logan to pick him up._

_Six years later, he's still waiting. Still fallen, still looking up, wondering how much will be broken if he ever gets back to his feet._

When Kendall's mind finally jolts back to a warped something resembling awareness, its first function is to shift around Kendall's definitions and perceptions until he unequivocally equates sunsets to loss, and there is a brief flash of thought about how sad that is, really, before the gears are finally turning in place and Kendall's feet are carrying him faster than he can think to the spot where Logan disappeared.

The word, disappeared, is really more sickeningly scary than it lets on, because it suggests Kendall doesn't know where Logan went, which might be easier to take, but the fact is Kendall knows exactly where Logan went.

Looking down is dizzying, and it's not from the height.

No one would be surprised to find out Kendall's a psychotic, speed-obsessed roller coaster connoisseur, the faster the better, gauging the awesomeness of each by how much time he spends suspended upside down in mid-air, how steep the drops are, how high his stomach jumps. There aren't many things that offer him that kind of rush - performing, in a way; sex, in another.

But now, frozen in the same patch of sparsely grass-coated ground where Logan's feet stood only seconds ago (maybe not firm, maybe not solid, but here), staring down into a wind-choppy expanse of air and endless space, nothing has ever looked more terrifying. And it's not the drop that's making his head spin like he's drunk; it's not the rough, angry waves crashing brutally against the rocks in the water; it's not even the rocks themselves.

It's the empty space where Logan should be surfacing, gasping for air, and crawling to shore.

Should.

Should and isn't, and that's enough for Kendall.

There's not much thought that goes into it; no should-I-or-shouldn't-I - if anything, his mind has shut down to basic functions, which leaves room for logic and no emotion, and that's pretty damn lucky, because it takes a fair bit of logic and zero emotion to try and judge the kind of running start he needs to be able to jump out far enough to avoid the rocks and hit deep enough water that he won't give himself a concussion.

There's a scrap of emotion that seeps into his thoughts, then, of the wreck and of Logan unconscious on the beach, coated in sand and seaweed and blood.

He forces it back like bile (and there's a fair bit of that to force back, too), launches himself forward until momentum and gravity fight for control over him, until the wind is whipping over him so fast he can't even inhale without choking; until there's nothing under his feet but air, and it's - it's no different, really, than the first time he crept up onto the high diving board at his neighborhood pool in his Power Rangers swim trunks, six years old and trembling, while his mom smiled at him from the side, calling up encouragement and promises of his survival.

The stretch of stopped time between the jump and the cannonball landing seemed to both last forever and not exist at all, and by the time he'd surfaced, rubbing at his eyes and smiling, his mom coming slowly into focus behind her applause, Kendall had learned to conquer fear.

This is. It's the same. It can be.

No different.

Kendall wonders what happens if a fear conquers you first - if it's conquered you for so long you can't even remember what it feels like not to be under its spell.

A darkening mass of ocean and rocks and angry white crests is growing closer, and Kendall closes his eyes.

_"Kendall... Kendall. Honey, wake up."_

_"Uh-uh."_

_"Come on, sweetie. You need to get ready for church."_

_Kendall forces himself to roll over, finding he's twisted in the sheets and that Vinny, his stuffed koala, has dropped to the floor. "But it's my birthday."_

_His mother smiles, smoothing a strand of hair out of his face. "I know, honey. Happy Birthday. Presents later."_

_"Can my present be not going to church today?"_

_At once her face morphs into one Kendall hasn't seen in over a year, since the day she was putting on make-up and Kendall bounced on the bed and asked, "Can I try some too?"_

_As soon as he's out of sight of the main worship hall, he tears into a run, not stopping until he reaches the men's room._

_It's like the sex ed classes cursed him._

_He'd stuffed the slip of paper into his backpack, gave himself an ulcer trying to decide whether to let his parents see it and sign off yes or no, knowing already what their answer would be._

_'It's not up to the secular school system to teach you these things, Kendall.'_

_He spends the weekend practicing forging his mother's signature, and walks into class on Monday, handing the slip to his teacher with shaking hands, as if she'll spot his guilt and call him out._

_The lecture's bad enough, complete with flip-chart diagrams, but the video's worse, and Kendall leaves school with the solid, devastating knowledge that he'll never get married._

_On Sunday his best friend Chase performs a solo in the church choir, and Kendall watches, transfixed by his voice, the way the light catches his hair and his hands curl around the base of the mic, and wonders if he might ever be able to sing like that._

_Before he's finished this thought, his pants are tightening and Kendall's panicking and reaching for his suit jacket, wrapping it messily around his waist and whispering to his mother that he needs the restroom._

_Chase's voice fades out as Kendall tears through the building, stopping breathless as he braces himself on the counter, one white-knuckled hand on either side of the sink, and when he looks into the mirror, his face is flushed, guilt-stricken, and he looks - feels - five years older._

_He thinks of horrible, unappealing things, death, spinach, his English teacher, but nothing works, and he remembers Chase is in his English class, and suddenly it's worse._

_God's fair, he thinks. It's a completely, logically fair punishment. His parents always say punishments work best when they match the sin._

_He comes with a "forgive me" on his lips and his mind swirling with the image of Chase's pale fingers wrapped around the microphone._

_"I'm not going to college."_

_It's a little anticlimactic, considering how many days he's been practicing it, trying to hear the words as they'd sound in this moment, right now, working to anticipate the reactions._

_His parents are silent for a long time. Kendall can handle talking, because he can retaliate with the same. But he can't fight quiet with quiet. He's Kendall._

_"What do you... mean?" his father finally asks, like the very concept contradicts the laws of the universe._

_"I mean I'm not going," Kendall states, feeling his strength rise with each word. "I'm auditioning for a contract with my band. I believe in them. In us. I know we're gonna make it someday."_

_His parents share a Look, and Kendall's too frazzled to try to interpret it._

_His father looks behind him, to Logan, James, and Carlos, and says, "I think you should leave us alone now."_

_Kendall turns around. Carlos is glaring at Kendall's dad, James's hands are slowly forming fists, and Logan's looking panicked but brave, ready to fight, his eyes questioning. Kendall nods, mouths ''I'll call you,' and they sulkily head for the door. Kendall hears it click shut and his heart sinks._

_"Kendall. Honey," his mother starts. "Have you talked to God about this?"_

_Kendall turns back to her, and can't help the sardonic grin that creeps over his lips. "God doesn't talk to me anymore."_

_"Maybe you're not listening," his father says._

_"Maybe God doesn't exist."_

_"Kendall Knight, I will not tolerate blasphemy in this home!" his father bellows, followed by his mother's quiet, tentative, "Is this about Logan?"_

_Kendall's eyes flash to hers in a panic. "What?"_

_His father is giving her a warning look, but she ignores it. "Are you - are you two. I mean. Kendall, are you engaging in sodomy with that boy?"_

_He can't help his eyes from rolling. "I'm not having sex with Logan," he hisses, hoping it doesn't sound as disappointed as it does in his head. "This is about the band, this is about making music, this is what I want to do with my life."_

_There is another long silence, broken only by the tick-tick-tick of the apple-shaped clock on the kitchen wall, beside the fridge plastered with pictures from the last family reunion, of Kendall giving piggyback rides to his cousins, and his body starts to tremble at the thought that those days may only ever exist in his past, and not his future._

_"Is that your choice then?" his father says quietly, and Kendall wants to say that it's not a choice, it's like breathing, there's no option for him, this is it, music is his religion, has been since he and Logan sang together, replacing hockey entirely._

_But he stands there with his eyes closed, listens to twenty minutes of lecture and retaliation, fighting back only when he can't take the lunacy another second, and manages to hold his tears in until he's up in his room, digging out from under his bed the suitcase still boasting stickers and patches and friends' Sharpie notes from eleven years of church camp._

_As he packs, Logan's smile flashes through his mind; Carlos's laughter; the way James tells stupid jokes that are somehow still funny. The way they sounded last night, listening back to their first track on GarageBand and the way Kendall's skin hummed with excitement, the way Logan looked at him at the moments when his best vocals shone through._

_He sits on his suitcase to zip it up and doesn't pray for guidance. He's never understood the concept of praying for something you don't really want._

_"Hey."_

_Kendall feels a hand on his elbow and knows, from the strength of the grip and the length of the fingers, the exact way they curl around him, that it's Logan._

_He lets the hand guide him gently around, and smiles. "Hey."_

_He's just come from the bathroom, and as most of the guests have cleared out or are well on their way to passing out on the dance floor (or, if they're Guitar Dude, are still busy trying to photograph said passing out), they're alone._

_"I, uh, we're leaving, so. I just wanted to say bye."_

_Kendall nods. "You, uh... staying in New York till tour starts, then?"_

_"Yeah. I - I think so. I mean, it's only a few weeks, and I haven't seen Beau in ages."_

_"Yeah."_

_"So."_

_Logan stuffs his hands in his pockets to get them out of his way. His suit's kind of rumpled by now, and he's relaxed enough to unbutton the top two buttons on his crisp, white dress shirt. His hair's a little out of place, his cheeks flushed from champagne, and Kendall thinks he's kind of devastatingly gorgeous._

_"So," Kendall echoes, shoving the thoughts from his mind with skilled, practiced ease. "You, uh, waiting for a kiss goodbye?"_

_Logan looks up and smiles. "Thanks for the dance."_

_If there were any bit of Kendall's heart left in his own body that Logan hadn't yet snatched up, it's gone._

_Kendall smirks. "We never did actually get to finish a whole song, you know."_

_"Yeah, I know. I owe you half a dance now."_

_"Yeah you do, asshole."_

_"Hey, it's your boyfriend who interrupted us, you know," Logan jokes, shoving at Kendall's arm._

_"Yeah, well." Kendall smiles and shoves back. "You might've molested me if he hadn't."_

_"I totally would've. Taken you right there in the foyer with all those people around."_

_"Hell yeah, you know how I love an audience."_

_They share a smile only they can read, but it's easy, safe, because it's been so long since it wasn't safe; time heals (destroys?) everything, and too many roadblocks have been put in their way for this to still mean anything. In Kendall's mind, it's good as platonic when you're finally convinced nothing can, will, could, ever come of it._

_It doesn't make it hurt any less, though._

_"Well," Logan says softly, eyes darting. "Guess I'd better, uh. Camille's waiting."_

_"Yeah."_

_Their eyes lock and there's that moment between moments, all of a sudden - which Kendall won't learn about until Carlos's standing stock-still in the water, gazing down at fish as he hands Kendall a spear - between the moment when the realization strikes that something, here, now, could happen; and the moment you decide to act._

_Kendall's trying not to act when Logan leans in, cupping his face, and presses his lips lightly against Kendall's cheek._

_Kendall's eyes stay shut through the sensation of Logan's breath on his face, the whispered "bye," and when he opens them, Logan's gone._

It takes Kendall several seconds to decide he's not dead.

It takes him several more to push himself to the surface, ignore the sharp bites of pain in his leg, his shoulder, the dull throb in his head. He knows he's hit things, rocks probably, but mostly water and he's alive and has full use of his limbs and that's all that fucking matters.

The water's only chest-deep where he's landed, and the mass of jagged boulders jutting out of the water are ten feet behind him, closer to shore, closer to where Logan (fell, dropped, landed, was) is. And is, is, simple and straightforward, present tense, to be, the state of existence, that's where Kendall's mind is stuck, has to stay stuck, if he expects to keep breathing.

He swims a few feet forward and yells, "Logan!" Stupidly, as if Logan will wave at him from shore, smiling and intact.

He gulps a lungful of oxygen before diving back into the water, swimming down to the ocean floor and trying to maintain some sense of direction, trying to gauge the radius where he should be looking, judging by where Logan must've fallen, and something in him is telling him to move further, closer to shore, where the rocks are most dense, but the other part of him is screaming protest, knowing if he finds Logan there, he won't be alive.

Surfacing quickly for air and screaming another desperate call of Logan's name for no use but good measure, he dives back down, closer to the rocks and flailing his arms out in every direction they'll go, pushing their range until they're stretched to the breaking point, desperate for his fingers to brush against a hand, arm, leg, face, just to find, find, find, because if he can find him, just get Logan into his arms, everything will be okay; it has to be.

The seconds pass, and Kendall knows time is probably going faster than he's willing to acknowledge, knows that for every second (minute, god, no, please not minutes) that passes, there's less chance of -

NO.

His wrenches his mind back to basic functions, logic and physicality, forcing his lungs to hold out another second, two, three, to reach just that much further before pulling back up for air.

The wind feels stronger on his face now, and the water somehow colder, the waves rougher and louder and the rocks sharper, and he screams again into the air, Logan's name and a string of obscenities, feeling his eyes beginning to prickle and he knows it's not from the saltwater.

It's getting darker, the sun nearly vanquished by night, and the rocks are getting harder to see.

His brain is weakening, starting to let the emotions creep back in, and Kendall knows he has little time before he starts to fall himself.

When Kendall falls, he doesn't tend to get back up very easily, and when he does, something's always broken.

Bracing himself with the biggest inhale he can take without his lungs bursting, he submerges himself again, working to cover as much distance as he can. With no real regular breathing in between trips down, the amount of time he's able to hold his breath is getting shorter, and each trip growing more futile.

He feels as if something's slipping between his fingers and he can't hold on.

He can't - can't -

And like that, it's over.

It takes a second to realize it's no metaphor, and what's slipping beneath his fingers is tangible, soft and swaying in the water.

Hair.

His hands fumble frantically as his body pushes himself down further in the water until his fingers follow the hair to a head, face, and it's only an instant before he's got a grip on the arms and is cradling Logan's head safely against his chest, lest it collide with anything else on the way up.

Kendall's spluttering and gasping when they surface, oxygen pouring into his starved lungs, but Logan's motionless. Kendall doesn't register it, though, doesn't register the blueish hue to Logan's skin and lips, the trickle of blood seeping down the side of his cheek, the harsh bruises on his face, the fact that his eyes are shut or that he's like dead weight in Kendall's arms, floppy and ferret-like, doesn't register anything but the fact that he's found him, and that's enough to carry them both to the shore.

It takes a minute to get to part of the shore that's not a cliff wall, that's actual sand and solid ground, and, a bit ironically, the moment they're out of the water, Kendall feels flooded, relief soaking him to the bone.

He lays Logan out on his back, ignoring the cuts and bruises scattered about his torso, and wastes no time in summoning up everything he knows about CPR, which is derived entirely from movies and TV and thank god for technology, because he's got about four things he knows he needs to be doing, and just knowing that much is a comfort.

He's slipping one hand behind Logan's neck, ignoring the chill of his skin as he tips his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose with the other hand, and leaning forward to join their mouths.

It occurs to him, strangely, that this is the closest they've ever had to to a real kiss, and Kendall suddenly wants to cry.

The few seconds feel like hours, between breathing air into his mouth and pumping on his chest, repeat as needed, until Kendall remembers how to speak and nonsense begins to spill out.

"Logan. Logan. God. Logan, please, just, please, come on, don't be a fucking bitch about this, okay? Come on. Breathe for me, man, come on. Don't do this. Just come back, okay? Just come back. Just come back to me."

He keeps trying, air, chest pumps, repeat, three times, four, five, and he's not even holding back his own sobs now, knowing their hindering his attempts but physically unable to hold them back.

It's the last attempt, when his head is starting to cloud from lack of normal breathing himself, when he finally lays his head on Logan's chest, searching out a heartbeat.

"You can't. You fucking can't," he whispers. "I love you."

It's not the first time silence has followed those words.

But he can't find a beat, a sign, can't find anything - and for a moment, the world ends.

Then something is rumbling beneath his cheek and almost before he can jump to awareness, Logan's entire body is convulsing, shuddering as he attempts to breathe, attempts to lift his head as a steam of ocean water spills from his mouth, spluttering and choking.

Kendall nearly jumps out of his skin, goes numb, does backflips, god only knows what he'd be capable of, carefully helping Logan up, supporting him so he doesn't choke on the water, and there's a few solid minutes of simply breathing, harsh and rough from both, sometimes matched in rhythm and sometimes disjointed, uneven, while Logan just tries to come back to himself, tries to catch his breath, and Kendall tries to remember how to breathe at all.

When Logan finally looks at him, eye to eye, faces inches apart, Kendall freezes.

For the first time in his life, he's actually expecting Logan to kiss him.

Logan stares at him for a long time, nothing visible in his face other than shock, disorientation, and when a reaction finally surfaces, it's a bit removed from Kendall's expectations.

Logan's eyes scrunch up and his breath catches, and he's crying.

Kendall tries to stop it before it can start, wraps his arms tighter around Logan, pulls him to his chest, whispers things he hopes are soothing, but it only escalates like wildfire, dropping fast into sobs and choking and full-on screams, and when the words come out amongst it all, Kendall almost thinks he imagines them:

"WHY DOES EVERYONE KEEP SAVING ME?!"

It's screamed into the air, fighting for audible presence with the harsh crash of waves and Kendall's own racing heartbeat, but it's clear enough.

Kendall can't speak; it's all he can do to keep his arms focused on holding Logan up so he doesn't flop over. Logan's limp against his chest, sobbing like the apocalypse is nigh, and Kendall doesn't. fucking. know. what. to do.

"I don't deserve it!" Logan screams against him. "I don't fucking deserve it!"

"Shh," Kendall whispers uselessly into his drenched hair. "Baby, shh, it's okay - "

But Logan seems to be choking on his own fucking oxygen now, and with him all hunched over the way he is, all Kendall can think to do is lift him until they're both on their feet. Logan's wobbly, unable to support himself at all, and without a second thought, Kendall's leaning over, hooking one arm around Logan's shoulder and another around the backs of his legs, and hoisting him into his arms, bridal style. He's heavier than he looks, that's for damn sure, but even through his sobs, his arms come up to circle Kendall's neck as his head flops limply down, nestled against Kendall's chest as he cries.

It's less than half a mile back to camp, but today it might as well be a whole ocean.

He can feel his back starting to give about ten minutes in, and his arms starting to burn like hellfire after fifteen, but he's lucky, in the end: as soon as camp's in sight, it's clear James and Carlos have been waiting for them, and both come scrambling toward them. Carlos's speed could land him in a marathon, and he's not even reacting, not even questioning, just reaching for Logan with panicked eyes and as soon as Logan sees him, he's reaching back, like a child, grabby and desperate, and Kendall gratefully transfers him into Carlos's arms.

He starts up crying harder again when Carlos has got him, but he's clinging to him like Abu used to cling to them, pressed flush against his front with his legs around Carlos's waist and his face buried in Carlos's neck. Something sets Carlos off and Kendall can see his eyes welling up, tears building and spilling down his cheek as his eyes search Kendall's for answers.

Kendall stares at the ground.

By the time James reaches him, Carlos is nearly back at camp. James doesn't say a word as he approaches, just stands beside Kendall as they watch Carlos place Logan carefully on the blanket, reaching behind to their stash of extras and draping one over him, folding another to prop under his head. Logan doesn't have patience for much more and pulls him down until they're wrapped around each other, Logan's head buried against Carlos's shoulder, still fighting broken sobs. From what Kendall can tell, Carlos hasn't said a word, and it's clear he doesn't have to.

He wills himself away from jealousy.

It's a moment before he realizes James has slipped his hand into Kendall's, and when he meets James's eyes, he crashes.

James is a step ahead of him, pulling Kendall against him with strong, solid arms, one hand firm around his back and the other stroking a soft rhythm through Kendall's hair, as Kendall's own tears begin to explode from repression. He can feel James's breath against his neck, a quiet, "Shh, Ken, I've got you," and he does. James does.

James doesn't try to say anything, doesn't try to pull back and search his face, doesn't try to make him talk. And when Kendall finally pulls away himself, swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand, James simply says, "Do you want to go for a walk?"

Kendall doesn't let go of James's hand, and James doesn't pull away.

They walk slowly, kicking at sand and remnants of waves that trickle over their feet. Kendall stops them before they get too close to the cliffs, and James doesn't ask questions.

There's a weak, skinny strip of sun left on the horizon, and Kendall's scared to see it vanish. Like if he doesn't make some sense out of this day while it's still here, he'll have lost his chance.

"He didn't jump," Kendall says suddenly as they're staring out over the water. It feels necessary, somehow, to clarify. To defend Logan. To make sure they all know that in the end, Logan didn't make that choice.

James turns to look at him, still silent.

"It was an accident. He - I mean. He was going to, but - then he wasn't, and - but he slipped."

James squeezes his hand, sensing Kendall's irrational guilt like it has a smell, like it's that obvious. "Kendall, you saved his life."

Breathing normally still feels abnormal, and Kendall barely notices when his breath catches. "He didn't want me to."

"That's not true."

"It is."

"Kendall - "

"He said so."

"Do you never say things you don't mean when you're angry?"

Kendall turns to look at him. "Truth also comes out when you're angry."

James smiles feebly. "No, the truth comes out when you're drunk. When you're angry... I don't know. What comes out is like... an exaggerated, overblown distortion of the truth. Logan may say he doesn't want to be saved, but what he probably means is, he doesn't think he deserves to be saved."

Kendall's throat tightens, and he studies James's face for signs of deification. "That's - that's exactly what he said."

James shrugs, looking out at the water.

"Why would he say that?" Kendall prods. "He - I mean. Five or six years ago, I would've maybe understood, but. He hasn't had self-esteem issues at that level for a long time."

"I think... it's maybe more than self-esteem. I - I think... maybe. It's guilt."

"Over what?"

For a moment James looks distinctly like he's going to say something other than what he says, which is, "I can't answer that."

James must sense that Kendall's about to explode, though, and after a moment, he runs his free hand through his hair, searching for words.

"I - I think he - I. Fuck. Kendall, I don't know."

Kendall's going to believe him, because he has to.

"I yelled at him," Kendall whispers to the ground. "I'm fucking horrible at this, I fucking yelled at him."

"He yelled at you too," James points out defensively, and when Kendall's eyes dart up for clarification, James rubs a thumb over the back of Kendall's hand. "I'm not psychic. He always yells when you two fight."

"He said something," Kendall says, fixing his eyes on one approaching wave to narrow his focus, heart beginning to quicken as he rethinks the words in his head that had been lost until now. "Before he - we were - I. I said I'd lost everything, and he said I still had us, that - that I still had him. And I - I said, I mean, I said it was fucking bullshit, that I'd never had him. And he - he said I'd had him every day since we met. What does that - I mean that doesn't even make sense, James, what the fuck does that mean besides, like, the obvious, which isn't even true? Why would he say that?"

James swallows, eyes warm but cautious. "Distorted versions of the truth," he says softly.

Kendall's eyes search his, still questioning.

James stares down at the sand, wet and pliant; at the spots where it rises up at the outlines of their feet.

"Maybe he wanted you to have him."

_Logan is four years old the first time he tastes alcohol._

_His father leaves a bottle on the counter, a bottle, miracle of miracles, that hasn't yet been emptied. Logan's curiosity gets the better of him and he manages a sip before spitting into the sink in disgust._

_He decides then that he'll never understand his father._

_He doesn't drink again until he's fifteen, three weeks after he kissed Carlos in his bedroom to prove Carlos wasn't fundamentally unkissable; three weeks he's spent thinking how fundamentally kissable Carlos actually is._

_Carlos crawls through Logan's window at Logan's call, hours past either curfew, and Logan's so far gone he hasn't even bothered to hide the bottle of Jack's that's still sitting blatant and incriminating on his bedside table._

_Logan lunges for him before Carlos's even got both feet on the bedroom floor, aiming for his mouth and getting the corner of his lip instead. Carlos jerks away, eyes fiery with anger, and snaps, "Are you fucking drunk?!"_

_Only then does Logan feel guilty._

_Letting his father down, letting himself down; those are guilts he's dealt with long enough, but letting Carlos down is unthinkable._

_"I just," he slurs, bracing himself on Carlos's arms, and Carlos's still amazing enough that he's supporting him, holding him up with two sturdy hands cupping Logan's elbows. "I just wanted..."_

_"Ohmygodyou'redrunk," Carlos says mostly to himself, his voice squeaky and weak, eyes fearful. "What the fuck were you thinking? Are you out of your fucking mind? After - after all that he's - what the fuck, Logan?"_

_Logan works to focus his eyes on Carlos's, and says quietly, "I just wanted to kiss you."_

_"And you have to be drunk for that?!" Carlos retorts, hoping the dizzying flutter his stomach made at Logan's words goes unnoticed._

_"I wouldn't have had the nerve otherwise."_

_"Well you're not kissing me now, you dumbass. You smell like booze and you can't even stand up. You can kiss me when you're sober and promise never to do this again."_

_"I promise," Logan says immediately._

_"Good. Jesus." Carlos releases him when Logan braces himself with one hand on the edge of the bed and sits down. "Go to bed."_

_Logan reaches out, tugging gently on the leg of Carlos's jeans. "Will you stay till I'm sober?"_

_Carlos can't seem to stop himself smiling, and even Logan smirks like he's won when Carlos drops down to his knees in front of where Logan's seated, snaking his and Logan's fingers together and resting them atop Logan's bony knees. Shaking his head like he can't believe he's doing it (or maybe trying to shake out his own nerves), he leans in, pressing a light, closed-mouth kiss against Logan's lips. He can feel Logan sigh, melt into it, into him, and it takes all his willpower to pull back, not to just stay there and sink into soft, pink lips and ten years of memories._

_He squeezes Logan's hands. "I'll always be here."_

_He's a total fucking geek._

_Like, complete with black-rimmed glasses and Gollum impressions and t-shirts with Disney characters branded across them and he learns video game theme songs on his acoustic by ear and he never, ever stops talking._

_And those are his good qualities._

_He plays guitar better than Logan, sings better than Logan, plays piano better than Logan ever could if he sat down to learn, he could make a burlap sack look hot, Logan stops breathing when he sings, and despite fucking up the lyrics all the fucking time and singing them completely the wrong way, he speaks the words with more passion than even Logan could ever breathe into them, and they're his words._

_And Carlos totally, totally has a crush on him whether he'll ever admit it or not. (He doesn't.)_

_Logan wants to hate him._

_And it's not like he's not trying - for a year he almost has Kendall convinced._

_His own mind isn't so gullible._

_Kendall's hands are shaking so hard it takes him three times of trying to hang up the phone before he manages to get it back on the receiver._

_He turns to the room at large, three sets of saucer-wide eyes glued to him, and swallows._

_"He wants to sign me."_

_Carlos cracks first, breaking into a smile. "That's great man," he says, and pats Kendall on the shoulder._

_James is next, springing suddenly to his feet and glaring at Kendall, protesting about how it's his dream and Kendall's ruining everything._

_Until Kendall clarifies._

_"He wanted to sign me but I told him I couldn't be in a band without my three best buds."_

_James leaps at Kendall and envelops him in a hug, singing his praises and repeating over and over about how Kendall is the best friend he ever had, so much better than his mirror, or even his lucky comb._

_"I'm gonna call my mom," Carlos announces, and Kendall's kind of amazed he can even talk out of that ear-to-ear grin. He grabs Logan's face with both hands, plants a giant kiss on his cheek, then marches over to Kendall and does the same before racing from the room._

_Logan lets out a breathless chuckle when they're alone, trying to draw in a steadying breath, and meets Kendall's eyes. "So."_

_Kendall smiles a little dazedly, waiting for something and Logan's not sure what. Logan can see his eyes start to glisten, and he knows, he knows this means more to Kendall than screaming fans and his name on a marquee. It means more than that to all of them, of course, but Logan knows for Kendall, it's his way of saying how much he loves his best friends._

_Logan grins wider, trying to loosen him up. "You hang all over me every fucking day, are you seriously gonna sit there and do nothing?"_

_Kendall finally gets to his feet, stepping over to Logan as they fall into a hug. Logan's arms are tight around him, and Kendall's fast to take the hint, holding him in his usual bear hug vice-grip, and Logan smiles into his neck._

_"Thank you," he whispers._

_"For what?"_

_"Doing this for us."_

_Kendall sighs into his hair. "You're an idiot. I love you."_

_It takes Logan a second to realize why he doesn't automatically say it back._

_He and Carlos say it often enough, and maybe he and Kendall hadn't quite reached that point, but there's a first time for everything, and it's not until Kendall tenses in his arms that he thinks maybe - maybe - fuck._

_Carlos is bursting back into the room, mile-wide grin still intact, and Logan and Kendall break apart. Logan's eyes are stuck on him, but Kendall's attention has gone to Carlos, like he's glad of the distraction._

_"My mom says you're all coming to dinner. Also she screamed really loud so I can't hear out of my left ear now, but whatever."_

_"Awesome," Kendall smiles. "I'll get my stuff."_

_He's gone before Logan can catch his eye._

_When Logan finds the black material bunched up on the sofa later that night as he makes his way to bed, he brings it with him, unbunching it and folding it carefully before placing it next to his pillow._

_So he won't forget about it, obviously._

_He lies down and flips open his phone. Inches from his head, he smells something that registers as 'Kendall' in his mind. Something like peaches and Irish Spring._

_Logan scoots a little closer to the folded material, and starts a text message._

_u left ur hoodie here. ill give back tomorrow. p.s. love you too._

_It's that moment between moments again._

_Not really; more of an era between eras. Logan knows in the back of his mind that at some point Kendall and Guitar Dude stopped sleeping in separate beds, but they haven't announced it to the world, so Logan can write it off as false speculation all he wants._

_It makes him feel like a complete idiot, because Guitar Dude is exactly what he's been hoping for Kendall for years. He should feel satisfied, content. Not - whatever it is he's feeling, which feels like the opposite._

_He turns the corner of the narrow, dark corrider in the venue, paint peeling from the walls and dim, flickering lights dangling from the ceiling, and sees them._

_Kendall has Guitar Dude against a wall, chipped paint and all, hands on his waist, thumbing gentle circles into Guitar Dude's hips, their mouths moving in soft patterns of obvious familiarity. Guitar Dude's hands are splayed across Kendall's back, stroking smoothly, urging Kendall impossibly closer._

_This isn't a first kiss._

_Logan spins on his heel, trips over his own stupid pointy boots, stumbles back into the dressing room and doesn't, absolutely doesn't feel his eyes sting._

_"So. You, uh, waiting for a kiss goodbye?"_

_Logan wonders how far upside down their lives would turn if he said yes._

_He doesn't._

_He says, "Thanks for the dance."_

_Kendall smirks, and to Logan it's such a write-off, a belittlement. Years ago Kendall still would've succumbed to hopeful eyes and long gazes, wondering if Logan meant more than the words suggested._

_It's ironic that now, finally, Logan does._

_"We never did actually get to finish a whole song, you know," Kendall remarks._

_"Yeah, I know. I owe you half a dance now."_

_"Yeah you do, asshole."_

_"Hey, it's your boyfriend who interrupted us, you know," Logan points out, shoving at Kendall's arm to mask the disappointment he fears might've seeped out in his voice._

_"Yeah, well." Kendall smiles and shoves back. "You might've molested me if he hadn't."_

_"I totally would've. Taken you right there in the foyer with all those people around."_

_"Hell yeah, you know how I love an audience."_

_A pang shoots through Logan's chest as he wonders if this is how Kendall felt, every time he paced across the stage to Logan, knowing Logan would pull away just before Kendall's lips made contact with his skin, and still going for the kill every time. Knowing it was a joke for Logan but never for him._

_They're smiling now, that smile only they know, but Logan wonders now if he's ever really known it at all._

_His eyes scan their space, searching for people who shouldn't be seeing this. "Guess I'd better, uh. Camille's waiting."_

_"Yeah."_

_He decides, fast and frantic, that it doesn't matter who's watching, because it's too late for any intentions he isn't supposed to have, and he's leaning in, touching his lips to Kendall's cheek, and it's not until he's pulled away that he realizes his hand had been cupping Kendall's face, thumb stroking soft across the stubble on his chin._

_Kendall's eyes are shut, his lips parted, when Logan pulls away, whispering "bye" against his skin, and Logan, like the coward he's always been, slips out of sight before Kendall can open his eyes._

_He thinks of old hoodies and text message I-love-yous and how everything was easier when you thought you had all the time in the world, when you thought your choices would make sense in the end and everything you feared was too big to actually exist._

_For the first time, Logan actually feels like an adult._

_Kendall texts him when he's slouched in his airport-bound cab, Camille close beside him, asleep._

_Give Beau a kiss for me. Will miss you while you're gone._

_Logan knows from the proper capitalization, grammar, and intact words, that Kendall sent the message in a raging avalanche of nerves._

_Logan doesn't listen to his racing heartbeat, only to his heart, and writes back, click your heels and wish for me._

_It's nearly an hour before the response vibrates through his pocket._

_I always do. You never come._

For four days, Logan is frozen in time.

He can't go forward, and he can't return to the manageable mess he was before. He's stuck on a ledge with wind in his hair and a perfect sunset at his back, calling him, mocking him.

His body carries him through the motions of daily activities, working at camp and fetching water despite Carlos's protests, but his mind is stuck on loop around those last moments, tripping over words and choking on warped, unintended confessions under a perfect sunset.

It went so, so horribly wrong.

It's been years since he'd stopped playing the scenario out in his head, in his fantasies, wondering how it might go if the time ever came, if the impossible ever became possible, if he ever got the chance to say it the way he wanted, the way it was meant to be said; if all the pieces suddenly fell into place.

It was never supposed to be like this, the words screamed on both sides with emotion too high to leave room for comprehension: a shock of chaos and anger, cut short at the very brink of resolution when it was supposed to have been a moment that never even existed outside its own fantasy perfection.

And now Kendall won't speak.

To be fair, neither will Logan.

Logan finds wide peridot eyes on him time and again, averting as soon as they're caught. He knows Kendall's waiting for him, waiting for something, but Logan doesn't know what and he can't afford to guess wrong.

Kendall keeps himself extra busy, only surfacing around camp when necessary, and always, always working. Logan doesn't know where the work keeps coming from but Kendall seems to find it. It reminds Logan of how his father always managed to find alcohol, even when there was none.

Logan thinks maybe it comes down to desperation. The rock-bottom kind.

It's almost bearable until the times Kendall will return to find Logan speaking quietly with Carlos or James, about nothing really, about how much water they have left or where his favorite t-shirt went, but to Kendall it must look like Logan's handing out intimacy and confidences at every turn and Kendall gets passed over, every time, just like before.

Carlos manages to catch him right at that moment between moments: far enough along to give Logan about eight brains' worth of time to think, but just before the breaking point; after a decade and a half, Carlos has worked it into an effortless, second-nature silence.

Carlos finds him outside his favorite cave, leaned back against the uneven stone entrance, turning a rock over and over in his hand; with each rotation, replaying a handful of the words that he hasn't been able to silence since they were screamed into existence days before.

It's not yet dinner, but he's waiting for the sunset. Every night now he waits, hoping maybe when it comes around it'll have some kind of trigger effect, give him some miraculous insight into the moment he can't let go of, the moment where everything crashed and so far Logan's the only part that seems to have been recovered - and barely, at that.

Carlos settles himself into a curved wedge of stone beside Logan, letting their shoulders brush. They breathe together for a few moments, silent, until Logan flips himself around and lets himself flop against Carlos, chest to chest, arms limp at his sides. His chin hooks around Carlos's shoulder, and a long-held sigh flows from his mouth.

Carlos drapes his hands loosely over Logan's hips and whispers, "You have to talk to him."

Logan stiffens in response. Carlos stating the obvious never seems to lose its effect as long as Logan's set on denying it.

"You have to tell him."

"Litos."

"Logan." He holds him out at arm's length; down to business.

"Los, he'll - "

"Logan, he doesn't understand, he - he thinks you hate him."

"Carlos, he'll hate me, I'm not - I can't - I'm not ready for this!"

"You don't fucking have the luxury of getting ready for this, Logan! You've had years to get ready for this! We don't get to bottle shit up here, got it? We have to fucking stick together, all of us, no secrets and no bullshit, or else we're not gonna fucking make it!"

Logan stops breathing, because it's the first time in four months he's seen Carlos completely, unabashedly scared.

"I - I'm sorry," Carlos stutters, his face softening. "I didn't mean - I just."

"Don't apologize for being scared," Logan says at once, because he knows that's what this is about. That Carlos has spent every day their whole lives trying to be that solid-rock figure Logan couldn't get from anyone else, and Carlos's been so long substituting himself in the role that he probably doesn't even remember what it's like to let out fear, to let it show. To let Logan see he isn't invincible.

Carlos looks down at where Logan's entwined their fingers. "I just. I'm worried about him. Both of you. You're both suffering and I feel like - like - it doesn't have to be that way."

And it's so simple, not even a particularly remarkable observation, but it's striking Logan for the first time - that it really doesn't have to be this way - that there's a chance something might actually change, shift, and it would be okay.

That something could bend without breaking.

He squeezes Carlos's hands, thinking of how many times Carlos's kept him from breaking, and whispers, "Okay."

James is finishing up dinner when they return, stoking the fire as the sun just starts its descent, but he's alone.

"Where's..." Logan starts.

"He went off by himself for a bit," James says quietly.

Logan looks at Carlos, already expecting the "now or never?" set into Carlos's questioning eyebrows.

Something's leaping around in his stomach, heating to a queasy, unsettling level, as Logan asks, "Where?"

James pokes at the fire a moment before looking up, studying Logan, like he's trying to make sure Logan can manage this alone.

He swallows. "I think you know where."


	12. Chapter 12

_"I'm in love with Logan."_

_When Carlos looks up, he still has his Pop Tart in one hand, a bite missing from the corner. His mouth hangs open a bit, and his eyes are glued to Kendall. Not comically, not stunned; more like Kendall maybe just walked in in a frilly pink nightgown: like he's surprised it's actually in front of his eyes, but honestly not all that shocked that it's occurred._

_Kendall has stopped breathing and it must be obvious because Carlos starts chewing again to shake out the tension. He finishes his bite and sets his Pop Tart down on the newspaper splayed across the tiny bus table, and waits._

_"I just." Kendall tries to look anywhere else, but he's scared that if he doesn't at least try to stare Carlos down, he might get laughed at. "I thought. Y'know. That. You should know."_

_Carlos swallows. "I. I did."_

_And there - there. It ends, right there. Everything crumbles to horrifying pieces and melts into relief at once, and that's a weird, weird combination of feelings, so weird Kendall kind of doesn't think he's going to be able to stand up much longer._

_He manages a calm, observant-sounding "Oh," before his body gives up and deposits itself on the nearest surface, which luckily happens to be the sofa._

_Outside, Kendall can hear James on his cell phone, the mandatory morning mom call. Logan's long gone in search of a Starbucks and Freight Train has got yelling to do at the techs. It's every morning. It's every fucking morning, except Kendall's sitting here with blood rushing in his ears because he's never said the words out loud and Carlos knows, he knows, he knew, and he's okay, he's here, not laughing, still loves him, and Kendall's still alive, and Jesus, all this is supposed to be comforting, but it's not, it's so, fucking, not._

_This should be a beginning. Carlos should flash his million-watt grin and announce, "Logan'll be so happy!"_

_Kendall isn't so young that he'd actually expected that; unrequited love matures you in all kinds of nasty, pointless ways._

_But he wasn't expecting this, either._

_This - fuck._

_This just feels like an ending._

_"...Ken?"_

_His peripheral vision tells him Carlos's climbing out of his seat, over to the sofa, but Kendall doesn't really register it until the cushion dips beside him, and Carlos's pastry-warm hand is covering his._

_"Ken," he says again, softer._

_Kendall's not going to cry. He's not. It's eight-thirty in the morning on a Tuesday and he's eighteen years old and he's a dude and just, no. Maybe he's in love with Logan but he's not a pussy, he's not a fucking fag, he's not going to fucking fall apart. Besides, Carlos would pull him into his arms and then Kendall would get his t-shirt all wet and slobbery, and it's Carlos's favorite and that wouldn't be very nice. And Kendall can entertain these thoughts, can focus on this like everything's normal, because this is an ending; this is realization and recognition of everything he's feared, and he's prepared himself, and he can do this, he can._

_"It's okay," Carlos says, and Kendall doesn't know why that sounds so believable in Carlos's voice, but he guesses that's part of why Logan's worshipped Carlos for like, ever. "It's gonna be okay."_

_"Does he know?" Kendall asks, feeling brave to think he's ready for the answer, knowing it's not like anything can get worse._

_"I - don't know," Carlos asks, and it sounds honest. He sounds guilty. Kendall hates that for him. Carlos shouldn't hurt here; Kendall hurts enough for everyone. "I. Maybe. Maybe. I don't know. I'm sorry."_

_Carlos tucks his hands into the space between his knees, squashing them together as his eyes dart nervously._

_Kendall finally looks at him, waiting for acknowledgment, and says, "I won't fuck up the band."_

_"What? Dude, that's - that's not even. No. I wasn't. No, I know. You wouldn't. Don't you dare feel guilty for this. Logan may be a total dick sometimes but he's really fucking easy to fall in love with." He's half-laughing as he says it, but there's no humor, only sympathy._

_Kendall can't recognize empathy, or he'd see that too._

_He tries to smile back. It feels broken, like only half his face is willing to cooperate and the other half is only doing it out of pity. "Don't tell him?"_

_"No, fuck. No. That's not my place."_

_The bus door swings open, footsteps jostling up the stairs._

_"Gooood morning, rock stars," Logan's voice chirps, and even Kendall can't help smiling. James has been spiking Logan's coffee on his bitchiest mornings - with what precisely, no one knows, but there hasn't been a single complaint, and Kendall's maybe kind of falling in love with him, too._

_Logan grins as spots them on the couch, bearing three cups wrapped in cardboard Starbucks sleeves. Kendall doesn't recall ever having sleepily yelled out an order from his bunk, and judging by Carlos's elated face, neither does he._

_"Hazelnut blend, black, two sugars," Logan recites, handing one cup to Carlos, who snatches it greedily._

_"Fuck, I love you," he breathes into his cup before taking a gulp, and Kendall's not sure if he's talking to Logan or the drink. Kendall's stupidly envious nonetheless, wishing the words could come to his lips and leave them so easily like they do for Carlos, effortless and weightless, with no strings and no secrets._

_"And," Logan continues, catching Kendall's attention. He smiles differently when Kendall finally looks at him, like they're the only ones in the room, and that's - that's new. "Tall caramel macchiato, extra foam, extra whip, extra caramel drizzle, chocolate shavings, aaand..."_

_He grins wider when Kendall's eyes expand hungrily, holding the cup just out of Kendall's reach._

_Kendall swallows. "Cinnamon?"_

_Logan winks, lowering the cup. "You love me. Don't forget it."_

_Kendall blinks as he accepts the cup, choking out, "Never could."_

_He watches Logan slink back to the bunks, feels Carlos's hand slip back into his, and lets himself fall against Carlos's side, solid and soft and welcoming. He feels allowed, wanted even, and that's. Important, to Kendall. Valued, and highly, and never taken for granted. Carlos sighs gently, whispers, "I know," which makes no sense and all the sense in the world, and cups his free hand over the crown of Kendall's head._

_Kendall sinks into it, and everything hurts a little less, all of a sudden, and all those sermons about small, everyday miracles finally make sense._

_Because, yeah. Whatever. Love hurts. Sure._

_But loving Logan hurts more._

_And if Carlos is amazing enough to get that, maybe, maybe, Kendall will still be able to keep breathing._

It's not until a looping inner monologue of It's not fair, not fair not fair not fair, begins to sweep through Kendall's mind that he realizes what's happening.

He's just wormed his way into a crash course of the five stages of grief.

It all makes sense now, having spent his first hour in front of the waterfall with his eyes fixed to the falls, the white rapids morphing into blue pools, letting the distant, constant rush of noise settle him into what would've been a Zen-like state if he'd been more aware.

As it was, most of his thoughts had consisted of, in not so many words, This isn't happening.

Fucking shrinks and their fucking theories. It's almost funny, almost, to wonder if Kubler-Ross was any relation to - ha. Ha, ha.

It's none of this that breaks him, though, but rather the sudden awareness of it, of what's happening to him, and why.

And he's circled right back to it: it's not, fucking, fair.

He already lost Logan once, a million times, spent every day for years in grief, knowing he'd never have what he craved, what he needed, what he loved. He's been through this. He's been through and he came out of it, the night he spotted Guitar Dude across the room, wearing the same shirt and the same smile Kendall had seen on him a thousand times, but this time, something in his lower abdomen jumped, and he felt himself smile without trying. Guitar Dude looked up at just that moment, smiled back, and that was it.

Maybe he couldn't get over Logan, not really, not ever - maybe he couldn't move on, really, or move forward - but he could at least move. He could live, and be loved, and try to love back. He could. He could do it. People do it every day.

And he did. He did, and he tried hard, and it worked. Somehow, it worked. And it got easier, a little, when Logan smiled at him, touched his hand. It hurt less.

Or maybe Kendall had just worked so hard he'd gone numb.

But it's not. It's not fair, now, that he's back where he started, grieving all over again, harder and angrier because he has to re-suffer everything he thought he'd left behind, pushed aside.

He thinks it's worse now, even. His one dim, dying ray of sunlight before had been that it had never come out; they'd never actually talked about it, Logan had never overtly rejected him, never actually said the words, "Kendall, I don't want you."

It feels like he has, now. Kendall as good as confessed his whole stupid heart on that cliff, unintended and half a decade late, and Logan sputtered nonsense that Kendall's worked out in his mind to be that rejection. He can't hope for any more.

You've had me every fucking day.

For a few seconds, he'd let his heart soar.

But this - this is not that dream.

He knows now, knows Logan enough to get that it meant, This is all I can give you, take it or leave it and stop asking for more.

It makes sense. Too much. So much that it hurts.

When footsteps break into his locked-up, fucked-up bundle of thoughts, he sighs. He hears James' voice clear in his head, If you're not back in an hour, I'm coming to find you so you can cry on my shoulder instead of a tree trunk.

It's not that he's not grateful. He just doesn't want to talk. Not now. Talking makes everything in his head real, and he's content to ignore it, shove it back, as long as he can.

He tries to school his face into something that looks human - something that doesn't look like he wants to jump off the cliff all over again and maybe hit a few more rocks on the way down - and looks up.

Wow, James got really shorter and scrawny all of a sudden.

And. Okay. Oh. And. God.

Logan slows when their eyes meet, adding caution to each step but keeping his eyes locked to Kendall, almost like he's expecting to be told off, asked to leave.

Kendall doesn't ask him to leave. He doesn't blink, either. Doesn't do much of anything. Even breathing feels optional, superfluous at this point.

When he's close enough that Kendall can trace his eyes over each little bruise and fading cut scattered over Logan's body, right down over his stomach and the heartstopping lines of his hips, until the rest of his skin disappears beneath his boxer briefs, Logan draws in a breath and bites his lip.

"Can I sit?"

Kendall nods. If Logan had asked Kendall to do the chicken dance, Kendall would probably have done it. Even now, denying Logan anything is as impossible as it was the day they met.

Kendall almost feels angry, until he feels the heat of Logan's body beside his own, melting away any thoughts but the always, always unbidden I love you.

Logan sits, folding his knees Indian-style and curling his hands up in his lap. He's close enough that Kendall could slide his hand a few inches across the ground and touch him.

He doesn't.

He stares at him, though Logan's eyes are set on the ground in front of him. No matter how you look at it, Kendall figures he has every right to stare. Figures he's earned at least that right, if nothing else.

Kendall stares at him so long, so intently, that he almost fails to notice Logan's shaking.

He feels his hand inching forward of its own will, but he stops before it can make contact. This is Logan's choice. Logan's here of his own doing, for his own reasons. Kendall's not interfering. He's not going to try to save him this time. Logan needs to fucking save himself for once.

Kendall only hopes to god that he does.

"I," Logan starts, then thinks better of it and meets Kendall's eyes, his own already shimmering. "I have to tell you something."

Kendall feels his heart start to pound before he even recognizes his own nerves. Fucking hell, even now. Even still.

Because for all the hundreds of things he knows could come out of Logan's mouth, there is still that tiny, glaringly powerful part of him that hopes it'll be I love you too.

He swallows hard and says, "Okay."

Logan suddenly looks terrified, like he hadn't expected the answer, hadn't expected he'd actually have to go through with this.

"Okay," he echoes shakily, voice cracking a bit. "Okay. Um. Okay."

"...Logan - "

"It's my fault Guitar Dude's dead."

And there's nothing.

For a moment, there's nothing, not even time or space.

The words feel so loud Kendall doesn't hear the waterfall anymore, and before he can even think, Logan's opening his mouth again, his eyes wide and wet and shaky on Kendall's, his hands wrung tight in one another, his shoulders trembling.

"It's my fault. He was - he - we were. Do you, um. Do you, remember anything? About the crash?"

Kendall shakes his head, involuntarily. He's not sure how it happens. He's not even sure his head is still connected to the rest of him, but, fuck. And no. He doesn't remember. He remembers the electricity going out and waking up with Carlos's mouth on his, and. It was. Not bad. It was nice. Really nice. That's all. And. What?

"I." Logan tries to look away, but his eyes are drawn back to Kendall's, sharp and quick, as if by some outside force, and as it happens, Kendall watches the first tear break away from the well pooling in Logan's eyes and slip down the side of his face. "He. Before we - when he knew we were going down, and I - I'd somehow, I don't know, one minute I was holding your hand and then you weren't there, and I didn't know where I was, but I was slipping, and I was trying to find something to hold onto, and he - he was calling me, and he grabbed me and pulled me back up, and. Jesus. Fuck."

He swipes angrily at his eyes, like the wetness is unrecognizable. Maybe it is. Kendall can count on one hand the number of times he's seen Logan cry.

"He." Logan swallows, lips swollen from worrying them between his teeth. "He made me switch places with him. Because - there wasn't enough space for us both, and - I kept telling him no, no, just, fucking - no, but he wouldn't let me, and. I couldn't - he. Ken, he. He fucking saved my life, and I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry you have no idea, and I don't know why he did it, I just - "

"Logan - "

"Fucking hell, Kendall, he fucking sacrificed himself to save me, didn't he know how much it would hurt you?"

"Logan - "

"Didn't he know how much he meant to you, how much it would hurt you to lose him? That you'd waited so long for that, for someone to love you like that and I just, he fucking took it away and for me and I don't get it and I'm fucking sorry, I'm so - fucking sorry - "

"Logan - "

"I don't - I don't fucking deserve it, I know, I didn't want it, I'm not special, I'm not what you want, he was perfect and yours and he was everything I always wanted for you and he's gone and it's my fault and I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so - I'm so - "

"Logan."

And it's like Logan's a balloon - a weird, bony balloon and all the words were his air, toxic and polluted but keeping him afloat all this time, and now that they've left him, he's shrunken down, shriveled and crumpled and there's nothing holding him up.

But Kendall's two steps ahead, somehow, and as Logan sinks in upon himself, Kendall's arms are there, pulling him in, until they're tangled in an awkward, impractical hug, with Kendall's arms around him and Logan slumped forward against his chest, one hand braced on the ground to keep himself from toppling over, and the other arm curled around Kendall's back.

Between his tears Logan whispers, "Don't hate me," and if Kendall's own heart still belonged to him, it would shatter.

Kendall says, "It's not your fault."

He says it over and over against Logan's head, stroking through the strands with his fingers and spilling the words into the smoothed hair, over and over until Logan quiets, finally pulling himself up and staring straight at Kendall, waiting. He's more a mess, more beautiful, more ridiculous, more heartbreaking and more perfect than Kendall's ever seen him, and looking at him like this makes him almost, almost able to forget anything else is happening.

But Logan chokes another "I'm sorry" and Kendall doesn't forget.

"Stop," he whispers, spreading a hand over Logan's. "This isn't - you're not - it's not your fault."

"But it's because of me, he - "

"Logan - "

"I don't know why he - I don't - "

"I do."

Puffy red eyes expand, locking to Kendall's, and Kendall's heart (or the space where it would be) jumps and sinks, dropping low in his stomach when he realizes what he's just set himself up to admit.

"I."

And fuck. Okay, fuck.

Kendall tries to swallow, and practically chokes on his tongue. "I - I know why he did it."

Maybe an hour goes by before Logan says, "Why?"

"I - because he knew."

"Knew wh - "

"Jesus, he - he knew, okay? He knew what I know, what you know, what James and Carlos know, what everybody on the fucking Internet knows - that I'm fucking in love with you, Logan!"

The surreality of it lessens the blow. It doesn't feel real; it doesn't even feel like a dream. The words have been lodged in his throat for so many years that it's just ridiculous now that they're out, ridiculous and useless. And his heart's pounding, he knows it, but it's too late for nerves. It's over. It's out and it's over and the idea of having to live this moment will never terrify him again. It's done.

Logan blinks, and again, two, three times, until his forehead crinkles and he splutters, "You - what?"

"I - what?"

Logan looks like Kendall's just told him aliens are swooping down to suck out their brains any second and this, seriously, the fuck, this is officially the most ridiculous way this could possibly go, weirder and stupider and more embarrassing than Kendall ever would've imagined, and it hurts even more for it, because it was supposed to be over, Logan's supposed to say he's sorry, he just doesn't love him that way, and that's it, it's over. A clean cut. Fuck this drawn-out bullshit.

"What?" he finally spits. "What, Logan? What? Don't fucking tell me you didn't know, why are you - what's - what the fuck are you still not telling me? WHAT? Just fucking say it!"

"I - can't, I don't - I don't know how, I - "

Part of Kendall is poised to explode, but Logan's small, so fucking small and getting smaller with every outburst, and Kendall - he can't. He can't see this. He can't do this to him.

He squeezes his hands into fists, balling them up in his lap, and tries to breathe.

"Try," he whispers. "Please."

Logan nods, slowly, looking suddenly clear-headed. "Okay," he says slowly. "Just. Okay. I." And a smile breaks out, nervous and sudden. "I'm not good at this."

Kendall smiles, shocked to find it's easy. "I know. I love you anyway."

He's even more shocked to find how easily the words come now, how free and weightless they feel, and even though it hurts like fuck, even though he knows he won't hear them back, it's better. It's open. It's real and honest and there's nothing to hide.

Logan looks like he wants to smile back, but the Logan Mitchell rain cloud is hovering above his head, dark and looming as ever, holding it back.

Instead, he looks carefully into Kendall's eyes and whispers, "Do you want to know when I fell in love with you?"

And.

Okay.

It sounds so funny Kendall almost wants to laugh.

But there's also that part about it being the most incredible sentence he's ever heard in his life, and that's the part that's keeping him from speaking-breathing-thinking, let alone laughing.

Logan swallows, catching his own breath. "When you dropped down on the floor next to the Barbie Dream House, and you started being Gollum."

That - that, okay, sounds a little less funny. A little less like this is a joke. Because Logan, he wouldn't. No. He wouldn't take it that far.

Which leaves, obviously, the option that Kendall really is dreaming.

Logan tries to smile, but he looks so nervous it doesn't really come out right. "That's when," he breathes.

"Um." Kendall swallows to find his mouth has completely dried up. So, fuck. Okay. "Um. I. Let's try this again. Yeah? Okay. I say I'm in love with you, and you say, 'I'm sorry, K, I just don't feel that way about you.' Okay?"

Apparently he's worse at this than Logan is. And god, Logan's really bad.

He laughs at the thought, stupid, terrified, and Logan just blinks.

"So." Kendall swallows again, feeling his voice break before he even opens his mouth. "I'm in love with you."

"I'm in love with you too."

Holy shit.

Logan smiles, just tiny and barely-there and scared, tentative, and Kendall thinks he might be able to hear Logan's heart beating. Or somebody's heart. He isn't sure whose heart is where anymore, who owns which, and, Jesus, wow, and his breath goes short. And that's really inconvenient, because he feels like there's a shitload of stuff he ought to be saying right now.

But all he manages is a pitifully squeaked, "What?"

Logan's eyes kind of snap away from Kendall's then, like he's just come out of a trance, and he's not really sure how he ended up here or what he's supposed to do. When his eyes trail back to Kendall, tears are starting to collect again and fuck, no, no, no, no.

"I don't know how to say this," Logan says.

"I. Think maybe you said it? Twice? I - I'm - I'm not - "

"There's more."

"Yeah, okay. Yeah. Good. Okay."

"I'm gonna need a second here."

"Okay."

They're staring each other down, and Kendall knows, knows time has stopped.

Logan sits up a little straighter, his eyes now firm on the ground.

"When I met you," he starts, slow and cautious, "I - it was. Bad. I mean. What I felt for you was... really, really strong."

And. Okay?

Pretty much, Kendall is mostly just sitting in a gigantic pile of disbelief, because seriously. Seriously.

"But - you were. I. I knew. Your family - and, I mean, the way you'd grown up. You were so fucking sheltered, and - and I saw that, I saw what it had done to you and the way it made you, and. I saw all that desperation in you, that need to break out and rebel and, I don't know, just find yourself. To - whatever, fucking see the world and grow up and, just experience shit, god, I - I don't know, you know?"

Kendall feels like he's supposed to nod, but he kind of doesn't remember how to move his body.

"And - I knew. I mean. Of course I knew. Fuck, I - I saw the way you looked at me, the way you touched me, and I. I knew. I knew how you felt. I saw it, shit, everyone in a five-mile radius of us saw it. And I - Kendall, I couldn't. I couldn't do it. I. I had to give you time, I was so sure what you felt for me was just - I don't know, your first serious crush, your first... thing with a guy, I don't - I didn't think it would last. You'd missed so much growing up, I figured there's no way you'd even know what that kind of love meant. I was so fucking sure when you got out there, made the pros and toured the country playing hockey and you saw, you saw what was out there, that you could have anyone - then you'd be over me. And I couldn't, I fucking couldn't set myself up for that. I fell in love with you and it would've killed me to lose you, I had to push you off, I had to stay away from you, I - Kendall, I couldn't."

He swipes at his eyes again, at the wet streaks on his cheeks, and the anger has melted to mostly frustration. If Kendall's brain were working properly, or at all, it would tell him to do something, say something, anything.

"I." Logan chokes a bit on the words, trying to keep his eyes on Kendall's. "I knew you needed someone different. Not some fucking nerdy kid who treated you like shit half the time because of all his frustration over how he felt, over his stupid fucking choices. I knew you needed someone... older, and grounded, someone patient and mature and solid, someone like..."

Oh, god.

"And - and then we met Guitar Dude, and that. That was it. I knew I'd been right. Everything I'd thought, it was all true. I knew it would be him. And it happened, and you - you seemed happy, Kendall, so fucking happy, because you had someone to love you the way you wanted, and he was so good to you and it should've made me happy, it was what I wanted for you, what I practically fucking planned for you, but it's like - like it backfired, and the whole time you were with him, all I could think was, what have I done?"

Kendall doesn't know how he's breathing again, but fuck, he's going to take advantage of it.

"And. Camille." It's not a question, but it is, it's a thousand questions.

Logan watches him carefully, and nods. "I loved her. I do love her. She's - she's awesome, everyone loves her. She's an amazing person and I care about her and she helped me through a lot of shit, and - "

Kendall's eyes fall, and Logan quickly grabs his hand.

"Kendall. Ken. She's not you."

The contact is just, it's too much, right now, and Kendall gently withdraws his hand. "You." He tries to swallow, again. "You never. You didn't. You didn't tell me. You didn't tell me anything, ever, we could've..."

"I couldn't! How could I tell you any of this? I thought you'd get over me, I was so fucking scared, I couldn't risk - "

"So your fucking fear stole six fucking years from us, Logan?!"

"You don't understand. I should've fucking known you wouldn't understand, don't you know the kind of fucking guilt I've had over this?!"

"Jesus fuck, Logan! You think I don't know guilt? Huh? How about the guilt I felt every fucking day I was with Guitar Dude because I wished he was you!"

Kendall doesn't know where the tears came from or when, but there they are, spilling out over his cheeks while Logan stares, shellshocked.

Kendall can taste the salty beads that skip over his lips. "He deserved better than me."

"You deserve better than me."

Kendall looks up then, his vision foggy through the tears but clear enough to see Logan's face, radiating an honesty and truth he's never seen in his life, and he knows. He remembers. He remembers why he fell, and before he can stop it, his hand slips across the ground until their fingertips touch.

"Logan... there is no one better for me than you."

Logan doesn't blink, doesn't breathe - but his hand inches forward, curling their fingers together.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "Kendall - I - I did what I thought was best for us both, I - I'm so fucking sorry."

"You actually thought I'd get over you?"

"I'm sor-"

Kendall uncurls their fingers to reach up, placing his fingers gently over Logan's lips.

"Logan. I." He almost laughs, because oh my god this isn't a dream. "I - getting over you would be like... like getting over hockey. Or music."

Logan smiles behind Kendall's fingers, and it's the most incredible feeling in the world. Ever.

Kendall drops his hand, only to see the smile in its full glory.

"I just." Logan sighs, the smile fading. "I just... fucking... I wish we could just start over."

Kendall feels his own smile stretch across his face, bordering on mischievous, as he extends his right hand.

"I'm Kendall."

Logan's smile widens (and oh god it's gorgeous), and he takes Kendall's hand, entwining their fingers together.

"I'm Logan."

"Logan." Kendall weighs the word on his lips, and even without the game, it does, oddly, feel like the first time. "Logan."

Logan's still smiling, looking stupid and sixteen, and it's perfect.

Kendall squeezes his hand. "Dance with me?"

He thinks of stolen dances at weddings that weren't theirs, thinks of missed kisses and lost chances and how none of it matters with the way Logan's smiling at him now.

He helps them to their feet, there on the plateau overlooking the waterfall, the pool of darkening blue below as the sun drops a little further above them, casting something warm and soft over Logan's face. Or maybe, maybe that's not the sun at all.

There's an awkward moment while they try to figure out what to do with their arms, and fall into a nervous giggle.

"You can be the guy this time," Logan offers.

"Nah, you're more manly."

"Barely. And you can actually grow a mustache."

"But I haven't."

"Whatever, you've got something," Logan grins, brushing the backs of his fingers over the stubble on Kendall's face, and a wave of shivers shoots through Kendall's whole body, knowing this isn't staged, knowing they can do this and Logan's touching him because he wants to, because he's, Jesus, because they're in love, and it sounds so fucking lame, but this? This is, yeah. This is maybe, no, definitely, the best moment of his life. The end. And that's about as eloquent as he's going to try to be about this.

"I. Yeah," Kendall says breathlessly, his eyes falling to Logan's lips.

"Yeah," Logan echoes. "Um. Compromise?"

Before Kendall can ask, Logan slips his arms around his neck and Kendall takes the hint, his own hands curling around Logan's hips and their bodies shift forward, sinking into one another until they're pressed together, lightly, chest to chest, hips to hips, their cheeks touching. Logan's lips are hovering by his ear, breath sweeping over the skin, and Kendall totally, completely, melts.

"Now neither of us is the guy," Logan whispers, and Kendall can't help but laugh.

"Um, or, can we both be guys intead?"

"Oh. Yeah. Right."

They both burst into stupid, geeky laughter, their bodies trembling against one another, whispers of, "Jesus, Mitchell, you dork," and when Kendall presses a little closer, Logan does too.

And. Ha. Wow.

"You gonna give us some music to move to?" Logan whispers.

"Not like it's gonna help your skills any."

"Fuck you."

"Mm... yeah?"

Logan stiffens in his arms and oh shit, too soon, too soon, too soon.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Kendall whispers.

He can feel Logan chuckle breathlessly in his ear. "You better not be."

Oh god.

"I'm gonna sing now," Kendall chokes out, and Logan presses even closer in response, one hand sliding up to cup around his neck, and Kendall can only hope he remembers what notes are.

As he settles into a soft, whispered recitation of "Unchained Melody," the world around them melts, off and away and gone, leaving them. Just them. And in Kendall's head, that's maybe how it's been all along anyway, somehow.

Despite anyone's skills or lack thereof, their bodies fall into a rhythm, slow and swaying and it reminds Kendall of water, the kind swirling and merging below them, moving as one and this doesn't seem like a first, it seems like it's been happening forever and he's only just now noticing it, and the feeling sends him soaring higher than anything he's ever smoked, anything ever.

But even beyond that, what's stolen his breath, thoughts, soul, is how this is so much better than a first kiss that just happens, unexpected, not giving you time to anticipate it. But here, now? Now he has all the time in the world, knowing it's coming, and until it does, he gets to think about it, know that it's real, that it's certain.

"And time can do so much," he whispers, ghosting his lips over the shell of Logan's ear. "Are you still mine?"

They're so close he can feel Logan swallow, and when Logan whispers, "Always," he begins to shift, lips brushing the side of Kendall's face, over his ear, his cheek, his jaw, closer to the corner of his mouth until he's there, he's there, and the moment their lips touch, he pulls back, just enough for their eyes to catch.

Then Logan's closer, leaning in, in, in and it's there, it's done, their lips touch and six years disappear.

It's ridiculous, just a light brush of skin on skin, both of them smiling so wide and so stupidly it's almost impossible to get a proper kiss out of it. Their lips meet, lightly, and separate; meet again, grin against grin, and separate, until their smiles slowly begin to fade and the press of their mouths grows stronger; until he feels Logan lick a slow stripe across his bottom lip and holy shit holy shit.

They pull apart one last time, Logan's eyes on his, smiling and bright, but only barely questioning; he doesn't look like he's searching anymore: he looks like he's found.

Kendall swallows, staring hard at Logan's mouth, and licking his own lips in disbelief (because Logan's were like, just there), tasting Logan, sweetness and perfection and - yeah. Sweet.

"I," he whispers, out of nowhere. "Did you eat my last mango?"

When he catches on that the answer isn't going to be verbal, he looks up to Logan's eyes, which are wide and utterly nonbelieving, before Logan grins, curling his fingers around the back of Kendall's neck and yanking him forward until their mouths crash, and they're kissing.

Really, really kissing.

And it's awesome.

Kendall almost wants to laugh for spending six years imagining this, because really, he was cheating himself out of some really amazing fantasies; if he'd only known it'd be this good.

But some things, maybe, you just can't imagine.

Because this, this is no dream. This is real, standing next to the waterfall with Logan's arms around his neck, pulling him so fucking close Kendall can feel the ridges of Logan's ribcage pressing against his chest, the lines of his hips against Kendall's, the press of his - oh god.

His hands apparently have a brain of their own, and he finds them slipping lower down Logan's back, pulling him closer until Logan moans into his mouth, and Kendall's gone.

Somehow Logan manages to sink them to the ground, spreading himself out on the soft surface and pulling Kendall down on top of him, barely breaking their kiss, before Kendall can even think what-how-seriously-yes?, and their bodies are flush, grinding and arching into one another at every inch, and it's not long before their mouths are forced apart, oxygen demanding their attention.

Logan's still got a vice grip around the back of his neck and he doesn't let him go far, just far enough for their eyes to lock, their mouths so close they're sharing breath, breathing each other in, and gradually, their movements relax, desperation slowing to soft, gentle touches, their bodies aligned and in sync as hands start to wander, a little freer, a little braver, until he finds Logan's fingers snaking between their bodies, lower and lower and fuck, fuck.

He whispers, "Okay?", and Kendall hopes the choked gasp in the back of his throat is answer enough.

And then, that moment, when he feels Logan palming him through the soft cotton (Logan, Logan, Logan), his breath hot on Kendall's face, his only thought is how weird this really isn't, at all.

Whatever blood is left in his brain is working hard just to hold himself up, just to keep from coming on the spot like a thirteen-year-old with a Playboy, that it takes him a second to realize, yeah, something needs to be done here.

He supports himself on one arm to slip his own hand between them, mirroring Logan's movements until Logan's fucking writhing underneath him, gasping and arching up into his hand and yeah, this isn't enough.

Kendall releases him to tug on the waistband of his boxers, stammering an "Okay?" of his own and Logan doesn't miss a beat, lifting his hips and Kendall pulls back just long enough to slide them down and off and there's, Jesus, Logan, laid out before him, beneath him, for him, fully hard and just watching him, waiting, his chest heaving and lips red and kiss-swollen, and it sounds like all the cliches, but the reality, the image of it... is like nothing Kendall could've created in his head, in any fantasy, ever.

"C'mere, asshole," Logan smiles, and it's crazy how uneven his voice is, how distorted and fucked the monotone sounds by this point, and it's maybe the sexiest thing Kendall's ever heard.

Kendall obeys without blinking, and once he's spread out over Logan, Logan doesn't waste any time grappling at Kendall's underwear until they collectively manage to squirm, awkward and stupid and with no small supply of giggles, until they're off, and then - then there's nothing. Nothing between them.

For the first time in six fucking years, there's nothing beteen them. No clothes, no walls, no fronts, no lies, no secrets.

Just them.

Their movements are smaller now, just tentative, experimental thrusts as they watch each other's faces, soft gasps mingling with the distant flow of the waterfall as their bodies press into each other, mouths, hips, and cocks brushing together, before Logan wraps his legs around Kendall's and pulls him down for good, their mouths meeting on that dizzying bridge between barely-familiar and still-new, tongues entwining to match their limbs. Without really thinking, Kendall slips a hand between them, around both of them, stroking them together and nothing's slow or tentative now; Logan's nails are digging into his back, pulling him closer than possible until one of his hands disappears, reappearing between their bodies and closing around Kendall's hand until they're moving in unison, jerking each other slow and steady and yeah, this is going to be over really, really fucking fast and, fuck, whatever, because fuck.

Kendall feels a smirk threatening his lips when Logan comes first, because seriously, if there's anything Logan prides himself on it's self-control - but any threat of mischief is replaced by a wave of awe that fucking slams into him at the sight as Kendall pulls away from the kiss at the last moment: Logan's head tipped back, his eyelids fluttering, lips wet and parted, jaw slack; his neck arched and the soft exhale that catches in his throat as Kendall feels the warm liquid fall over their joined fingers.

It's enough, sending him over the edge until he feels his own release spill into his palm alongside Logan's, converging until he doesn't know whose is whose.

Maybe he blacks out; he can't be sure, but when he opens his eyes, Logan's watching him, looking the same as Kendall felt moments ago, watching Logan come undone.

Logan's hands come up to cup his face, gently guiding him into another kiss, before separating them enough to keep watching as they come down, breathing hard and both working to steady themselves. He studies every inch of Kendall's face, over and over like he's not sure it's real.

Eventually a smile breaks through, and he whispers, "Nice to meet you."

Kendall beams.

Logan keeps staring, keeps studying, and eventually Kendall has to ask: "What?"

"Nothing," Logan breathes. "Just. You're so beautiful when you come."

And, yeah, okay, now Kendall's blushing, hardcore. Really hardcore.

Logan smiles wider. "You're blushing."

"Ah, really? Yeah, hadn't noticed, thanks."

"You're so fucking cute, god."

"Shut up!"

"Make me."

Kendall does.

When they break apart maybe ten minutes (hours?) later, Logan whispers "I love you" like it's the easiest thing in the world.

Kendall says it back, because now, it is.

Nothing (except maybe Logan) has ever felt better on his lips.

"That was one of the hardest nights, actually," Logan says quietly, his hand idly stroking down Kendall's back.

Kendall scoots closer, nestling himself against Logan's side and curling his arm around his waist, pressing his face into the crook of his neck. "Why?" he asks softly.

"I just... seeing you like that. Standing in the ocean in the middle of the night, scared shitless that a shark was gonna come and eat you... you looked so fucking helpless. I never wanted to see you scared like that. I wanted to kiss you, so bad."

Kendall shifts his face, pressing his lips to the pulse point at Logan's neck. "I wanted you to."

Logan turns, dropping a kiss into Kendall's hair. "I know."

"Doesn't matter now."

The truth of the words draws another smile to his lips, one of thousands, it seems, that have crept over him tonight.

Logan's silent, but it's not until he shifts, propping himself up on an elbow and gazing down at Kendall with a crease in his forehead, that Kendall feels something sink low in his stomach.

He swallows. "What?"

Logan watches him, tracing a finger across his jaw, down his chest, idly circling over his hips. "Carlos said something today... about. Just. How we all have to stick together, the four of us, y'know, how we can't have any secrets or any - just - how we have to do this as a unit, or we're not gonna make it."

"...Okay. Yeah."

"And." Logan meets his eyes. "I just think... if we're... you know... doing this, around them, being obvious and - just - pairing up like this, I think... it might... it might be..."

...Oh.

Kendall takes his eyes away, staring down at the movements of Logan's fingers against his skin. "Oh."

"I just - fuck, I don't want it to be like this, I just. It might take away from the strength of us as a group, you know? We just - we can't let anything fuck with that, and... and if you and I are..."

Kendall nods, trying to force himself to accept logic over the No, no, want, want you protests in his brain.

"Ken, once we're home it'll be different, we can - "

He looks up. "And if we never get home?"

Logan's hand stills, curling protectively around his hip. "I don't know yet."

Looking into Logan's eyes, pleading silently for understanding, for compliance, Kendall can only nod.

"Okay," he whispers.

"I just - I'm trying, fuck, I'm just trying to do what's best for all of us."

"I know. I get it."

"I love you."

"I love you too," he breathes, and at once Logan's leaning over, crawling onto him and joining their mouths.

"Might be easier," Kendall whispers between kisses, "if all four of us were sleeping together."

Logan chokes on his breath, pulling back to reveal a lopsided grin. "That's your solution? Polygamy?"

"Hey, I was raised in the church."

Logan's smile widens. "It's kind of... not the worst idea ever."

"I'd totally do all of you."

"Likewise."

Kendall smiles, big and open. "Think maybe we should get them drunk before we share that information."

Logan smirks. "Drunk and naked."

"Logan Mitchell!"

Logan drops his face to Kendall's chest, giggling against the warm, flushed skin. "Yeah, your boyfriend's a slut. Deal."

Kendall can't speak. It's stupid, high-school nonsense, but the word_ boyfriend _on Logan's lips, in reference to him, leaves him impossibly, beautifully senseless.

They lie there for long, silent moments, hearing and feeling heartbeats, lost in the comfort of not knowing whose is whose, and aching to draw out their moment as long as they can, knowing once they step off their cloud, once they return home to camp, everything will be different, halted, put on hold indefinitely and it's not something Kendall ever, ever wants to let go.

When the last splash of sun begins to disappear behind the tops of the trees, Kendall whispers, "We should get back."

They're idiots; dumb idiots in love, and that's all there is to it.

Because even though there's a rough outline of a path and they know the way back by heart, by the time they feel sand beneath their feet it's pitch dark and taken them three times longer than usual to get home, possibly due to the life-threatening need to push each other up against trees and kiss until they can't breathe.

...Sixteen times.

The fire's still simmering sleepily when they reach camp, and Kendall doesn't experience the sinking feeling of loss he thought he would, knowing they're back to reality and they can't live this out the way they want right now. Seeing Carlos and James asleep and curled up by the fire washes away all his regrets, his resentments and frustrations.

They're side by side, facing each other; their hands are clasped, but arms outstretched in front of them, leaving a Logan-and-Kendall-sized space in the middle where their hands meet.

Logan looks at Kendall and they share a smile.

"They must've had an awful lot of confidence in us," he whispers. "James pretty much looked like the apocalypse was on its way when I got back with Carlos."

Kendall squeezes his hand, and together they step forward, careful not to jostle the blankets too much as they crawl into the space between them, Logan curling up with his back to James's chest and Kendall mirroring the position with Carlos. It leaves the two of them only inches apart, and their hands instantly intertwine, eyes unwilling to tear away from one another, smiles still glued to their lips.

Several minutes pass, peaceful and quiet with the soft brush of waves against the shore; Kendall feels his eyelids growing heavy, but he can't bring himself to stop looking at Logan.

Logan. His Logan.

Jesus.

Logan squeezes his hand like he knows, before Carlos's voice suddenly breaks through the silence.

"Don't think we don't know what you did."

Kendall's eyes are suddenly saucer-wide, and Logan's follow, their smiles wiped clean away.

But then there's the sharp, sudden cackle of James's laughter, rich and loud and ridiculous, and if he weren't lying down he'd totally be doubled over. Carlos is quick to follow, dissolving into crazy silent hysterics, and good lord, it's contagious. Logan's next, and Kendall can't help but follow. He watches through his laughter as James pulls Logan closer, curling his arms around Logan's tiny waist, and Logan presses back against him, letting James nuzzle his neck and giggle into his skin and try to tickle him.

Logan's shrieking protests, squirming and squealing, and apparently Carlos takes this to mean tickling is pretty much the greatest idea ever, snaking his arms around Kendall and making a go for it.

But Kendall's kind of awesome at fighting tickles, and he plays dirty, biting and flailing and kicking, and it's not until Carlos chokes out an "Ow, dick!" through his laughter that anyone even starts to settle down.

James says something into Logan's ear that Kendall can't make out, but Logan smiles, and when Kendall feels Carlos's lips at his ear, whispering, "Love you, jerkface," he kind of figures it out.

Logan's eyes are back on him, bright as stars.

Logan mouths I love you, right through his smile, and Kendall does it back.

When his eyes finally close, he can't remember falling asleep, only remembers dreaming about the four of them together, seated at the cliffs under the perfect sunset, a warm breeze sifting through their hair, and there's no feeling of loss, only of completion. Someone's kissing someone, and someone's holding someone else's hand, and Kendall can't tell who.

He doesn't think it matters.


	13. Chapter 13

**Next chapter probably won't be out until Monday- I won't be at a computer at all! But I just want to say THANK YOU to everyone who has reviewed this story. You don't know how happy it makes me, every one of you is amazing and your reviews are such great responses and I love hearing the little things each person picks up on. I seriously couldn't ask for better readers, whether they are few and far between or not. :)**

_It's all Jett's fault. Then again, isn't everything?_

_Drunk Jett Stetson is a sight to behold, and not in that magnificent pyramids-Stonehenge-Eiffel Tower way. More like hilariously tragic, like a cat with its head caught in a Kleenex box. The good news is, he commands all the attention in the room._

_No, not like that. Like, he commands it._

_"Listen." The bottle of Jack wobbles dangerously in his hand as he flails. "No, people, okay, listen! I'm speaking!"_

_"Anyone care to remedy that?" Beau asks the room at large, and he and James share a secret smile. It reminds Kendall of the kind Carlos and Logan share when they're up to no good. When they're up to no good with a game plan. And possibly water guns._

_"These boys - " Jett waves an unsteady arm at Kendall, Logan, and Carlos, "- haven't been inducted yet."_

_"Oh, shit," Kendall hears James giggle beside him, and on James's other side, Beau snorts._

_Jett swerves around to catch James's eyes, narrowing his own into evil, reptilian slits. "Jamesy."_

_"Jett."_

_"You know I love you."_

_"Suck my dick."_

_Jett throws his head back and laughs. "Been there, done that. Truth or motherfucking dare, gentlemen!"_

_A practically calculated chorus of groans erupts._

_"All against?" someone calls, and eight of twelve people raise their hands (how did they even fit this many limbs into Jett's living room, for real). Eight hands remain folded in laps, slung over someone's shoulder, or stretched across the back of the sofa._

_Two of those eight are Kendall's. Two are Jett's. Two are, haha, Carlos's, what the fuck, and he's blushing to boot. Kendall's about to comment until the notices that the last set of hands nestled neatly in a lap are James's._

_He beams at Kendall, leaning in to whisper, "It's worth it. Jett made out with a lamp post once."_

_Kendall's eyebrows shoot up, and as he looks around, even the groaning protesters are watching with a guarded, reluctant interest. He isn't so sure he wants to make out with a lamp post, but he wouldn't mind seeing Jett do it, and besides, making out in general is pretty sweet, and something he could, should, certainly do more often. Or, y'know, at all._

_"Since Jamesy seems to enjoy whispering so much," Jett loudly interrupts, "maybe he'd like to share it with the class."_

_He drops to the ground, crawling over to James and placing a hand on each of James's knees as he leans in, dripping effected seduction with shocking ease. "Truth or dare?"_

_James shrugs, unaffected. "I think it's only fair to let Kendall go first. I mean, he's new."_

_"Oh, god, I - no, no, I'm good," Kendall laughs, drawing his knees up to his chest in nervous, jerky movements before Jett can claim him, and wondering why he ever thought James was awesome. "James is good, let's do James - "_

_"All in favor of Kendall?" Jett asks the room, and eleven people shoot hands into the air, eyes gleaming with a disturbing collective intrigue._

_And The Palm Woods is supposed to be this big supportive family. Fucking traitors._

_Jett smirks as only Jett can, backing up and stretching up to his full six feet. "Kendall Knight. There's two ways to get officially inducted into my empire."_

_"One is to blow him," James points out helpfully, and Kendall almost swallows his tongue._

_"The other," Jett nods in agreement, "is to play truth or dare with all of us and live to see the next day."_

_Kendall looks to James for support, but James only smiles and says, "'S true."_

_Kendall draws in a breath, hoping the oxygen might strengthen his resolve, but when he casts his eyes across the room, Logan's watching him like a hawk, the quirk of something tugging at his lips._

_And yeah. Yeah, he's totally doing this._

_He holds his hands up in defeat. "Bring it."_

_A few approving whoops hit the air and Jett grins. "Truth or dare?"_

_Truth is tempting, tempting as hell, in light of the alternative of letting his tongue anywhere near a piece of metal a million people have touched. But truth, if played well, could mean the end of his band, his career, his fucking life._

_He glances at James, who's smiling encouragingly, and says, "Dare."_

_"Mmm. Brave boy." Jett winks at him, pointing with his half-empty bottle before embarking on a dramatic pacing across his little square of floor. "I've heard Logie complaining that you sit on his lap too much."_

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._

_Kendall meets Logan's eyes, but Logan's staring at the floor and Carlos is laughing at him._

_"Since you like it so much, K, how about you make yourself useful and give us a lap dance?"_

_There's a mental equivalent of a keymash spreading across Kendall's brain as his eyes dart up to Jett's, wide and disbelieving._

_Jett smiles. "You know it's James's birthday tomorrow."_

_"Oh, god," James croaks, falling over into Beau's lap. Beau cackles traitorously._

_"Oh, god," Kendall echoes, burying his face in his hands and not sure whether to laugh or run back to his room, but Jett's shouting instructions and rules now, and he knows it's too late._

_"Maestro!" Jett calls to absolutely no one and nothing, but a few people shuffle around and within a few seconds a track that Kendall thinks he really shouldn't find so familiar seeps through a stereo somewhere and fills the tiny enclosure of their room, enough to send the crowd into a jostle of laughter, catcalls, and cheers._

_Kendall's not one to shirk his duty or shun a challenge, ever, and as he pulls himself to his feet, he allows himself one last glance at Logan, who's now watching him, fascinated, with a slightly open mouth, and Kendall thinks two words with passionate conviction:_

_Worth. It._

_He grins, shakes out his limbs, tugs on his skinny jeans until they're hanging low on his hips, and unbuttons the first three buttons of his shirt. The catcalls get louder, more enthusiastic, and he feels a little more settled, like it's just another performance. He plants himself in front of James, an eyebrow raised as he drops down, one hand carefully braced on the back of the couch on either side of James's shoulders as he lip-synchs the opening lines:_

_"I hate the world today... you're so good to me, I know, but I can't change."_

_James grins, and the crowd goes wild._

_xx_

_"Hey. Hey! Ken."_

_James jogs over to where Kendall is slunk safely against the wall of his own room, working his way through a second (seventh?) Red Bull, and smiles._

_"Hey," he offers._

_"Hey."_

_Twenty feet away, blasting music and an intermittent roar of surprise breaks through Jett's door. Someone shouts, "get off my fucking dick!" admidst the laughter, and Kendall ducks his head, trying to hide his smile._

_"They're kind of nuts," James points out uselessly._

_"Yeah."_

_"Why'd you take off? I mean, hell, I get a lap dance and then you abandon me... I thought you were a gentleman."_

_Kendall blushes as James nudges him playfully, his grin widening as he studies the rough black texture of the pavement. "Sorry."_

_"You okay?"_

_Kendall looks up, trying to find some clue in James's face that will tell him whether or not he should say it. But James's face is the same as ever, warm and inviting and open, free of presumptions or judgment._

_Kendall swallows. "I kind of enjoyed it. Is that okay?" he spills in a rush._

_James doesn't take his eyes away, doesn't scrunch up his face or step back. His lips curl up a bit; he blinks and says, "Yeah, K. It's okay."_

_"Yeah?"_

_James just smiles, tossing an arm over Kendall's shoulders until Kendall sinks into him, head dropping to James's shoulder._

_"Yeah," James whispers and tugs Kendall a little closer. "Yeah."_

_If Kendall knew James a little better, he'd know it means, "Me too."_

Four weeks of not having sex with Kendall is way, way worse than Logan's first fifteen years of life not having sex, worse than months on tour not having sex, worse than months on the island not having sex.

It's the worst not-having-sex ever, maybe in the history of man, even back to the cavemen. Beause that's about as mentally evolved as Logan feels right about now, regressed seven years or so and his brain running on an endless chant of wantwantwantwant.

Logan, basically, is maybe close to exploding.

There's been a few stolen kisses, a moment here and there where someone's shoved up against a tree because any more waiting just isn't possible, bodies pressed together, seamless and melting, arousal wound tight through their nerves. Half the time they'll come in their pants before hands have even ventured past their possessive clutching of hips, and they'll laugh, breathless, forgetting, forgetting everything but this, and it's addicting.

Kendall's still reluctant, still shyly hesitant to snatch the opportunities, to make the first move, still irrationally but deathly afraid of pushing too far, of stretching and bending their unspoken rules, of coming on too strong, just as Logan had accused him of doing for years.

Old habits, and all that.

Then the week before Christmas, down the beach at sunset, hand in hand and fire-red sun in their eyes, fighting and passionate to keep its space in the sky, Kendall turns, angling their bodies, cups Logan's face in his hands, and leans in.

It feels like falling, but like Kendall's there, catching him over and over.

Logan realizes it's barely a metaphor at all, and lets himself fall, further and harder, his hands tightening on the soft curves of Kendall's waist, and there are words riding out on the kiss, whispers of I love you and mine and yes, and Logan doesn't know whether the words are coming from him or Kendall, or even if they've been spoken out loud at all.

But that's just like them: always sharing words, Logan's inner voice fusing with Kendall's outer.

It's funny, almost, the way they've swapped roles: Logan, having held himself back for so long, now toying with possibilities and unable to resist pushing every limit set on them, stealing touches and kisses without so much as an ounce of shame, much as Kendall had for years. And Kendall, so stunned this has actually befallen him, that Logan's his, that, despite precautions, despite the rules, he's allowed - has shifted into hesitancy, letting Logan set the pace, almost too afraid to touch him lest he turn out to be a dream, after all.

So... things are different. Things are maybe like heaven. Only, not quite - more like heaven's there, just out of their reach, and it hurts and kills them and drives them to madness, but at least they know it's there, reliable and secure, waiting for them.

So yeah. Things are different.

Kendall doesn't do anything different, but finally being allowed to notice all the dumb shit he does anyway is kind of fucking mind-blowing. He'll bend over to scoop up the day's supply of coconuts, and Logan's vision will start to glaze over, staring at the outline of his ass, the stretch of the muscles in his arms, and he's hard, just like that, like a bad porno.

He's called out on it, once, deadpanned as only Carlos could, with, "Logan, if you eye-fuck him any harder, my ass is gonna be sore."

James's snort, Kendall's fire-red blush of surprise, and Carlos's shut-the-fuck-up-I'm-totally-not-grinning grin, combined, were enough to reign him in.

Then there's the subtlety, the bits that aren't like a porno at all. The parts that almost don't exist, but Logan sees, sees because they're only meant for him to see: moments soft around the edges, blurred to everyone but the two of them. The moments Kendall will glance over at him during dinner, face angled down, eyes dark with promise and a thousand secrets that don't have to be secrets anymore, looking out behind decadent, cover-girl lashes. The smallest corner of his mouth rises, and Logan kind of feels like he's dying and being reborn all at once.

In the week before Christmas, a total of eleven little bottles from what was once the plane's mini-bar find their way to shore, into Kendall's eager, grabby fingers, and finally, per Carlos, to a sacred shrine-of-the-untouchables beside camp.

James's eyes glaze over, Logan practically drools, and hey, it's not like they don't have some emergency vodka already stashed away for wounds.

By Christmas Eve, Carlos's parental resolve has weakened to a kitten-like state, and he reaches behind himself after dinner, snatching up the bottles and tossing them in turn to the others with mumbled protests (growing louder as he tries to speak over their hoots of joy) about their endless stupidity and how when the emergency vodka runs out, they're all going to die from all these spontaneous infections that are suddenly going to plague them.

Everyone listens carefully to Carlos, fidgeting restlessly with the little bottles in their hands, until he glares at them to indicate he's finished.

"I love you, Los," Logan says gently.

"Me too," Kendall echoes.

"Forever and ever," James nods.

Carlos rolls his eyes, tossing the last bottle in their general direction. "Blow me. All of you."

"Works for me!" James shrugs, flopping over onto Carlos's lap and groping teasingly at the waistband of his underwear as Carlos bats at him, flailing and kicking uselessly.

Kendall shrieks a war cry (Logan hopes to god it's a war cry; it better not be a sex cry, not that he's been able to fucking find out), scrambling across the sand, and topples gracelessly onto Carlos, pinning his shoulders down as he makes a go for all of Carlos's ticklish spots, and Logan knows he's going to be yelled at later for ever letting that information slip out, and to Kendall no less.

Carlos is yelling to Logan for help, but Logan's a little distracted by the stretch of Kendall's back as he fights, the way his underwear slips low on his hips, revealing the little dimples above his ass.

Logan tries to swallow, only to find himself choking on his own drool. So, so fucking sexy, Mitchell, seriously.

He chases it off with a fake cough, clearing his throat. "We should go get some water first, before sundown."

Kendall yells something triumphant and attempts to cup coconut halves over Carlos's chest. Carlos is yelling that he doesn't want tits, to which James responds "yeah, we know you all like the cock," to which Kendall starts laughing so hard he falls off Carlos and James has to take over wrestling him into submission.

Useless fucking band, for real.

"BKen?" Logan tries, reaching for the water bucket and squeezing the handle five times harder than necessary.

"Look! Logan, look! Los is a pretty girl again!"

"I will fucking revoke your alcohol privileges, you dick!"

"No wait, wait, where's the seaweed? He needs more hair!"

"She, James, she."

"Ken, we really need to get water. It's getting late."

James looks up, tearing his eyes from the scene and shoving back his laughter. "I think he's caught up in gender reassignment surgery, want me to go with you?"

"...No. I really think Kendall should go." Logan stares him down, hoping James's acquired at least a fraction of Carlos's telepathy over the years, because there's no way Logan's saying this out loud.

James's face evens out, eyes widening and lips curling up. "Oh. Kendall, I - I think you should go."

"But I'm - " He tightens his knees around Carlos's middle as Carlos makes threats to chop off key appendages, craning his neck around to catch Logan's eye. "We've got some water, can't it wait till tomorrow?"

"No. It can't."

The tense clench of his jaw must be visible, because Kendall loses focus long enough for Carlos to flip them, shoving Kendall off and poking at him until he stands up, eyes still set on Logan's.

He swallows, tongue darting out over his lips, and a tiny, careful smile peeks through. "Oh."

Logan starts for the forest, patience long gone.

"Go, you fucking twat," Carlos prods until Kendall's brain jumpstarts itself and his feet kick into gear, trailing after Logan. "And if you guys have sex in our drinking water, James and I are gonna have you for Christmas dinner with a nice chianti."

They're twenty, thirty feet into the forest when Kendall feels everything spin and suddenly the rough, layered feel of palm tree is grinding against his back, Logan's hand behind his head to cushion the impact, and Logan's tongue seeking his, merciless and unguarded with the distant taste of coconut teasing at his lips.

"Fuck," Kendall gasps, sharp and fast when Logan's mouth begins trailing down his neck and a free hand down Kendall's back, down past the dip of matching dimples, and slipping smooth beneath the waistband of his underwear. "Fuck - Logan, fuck."

"God, I wish," Logan pants against his neck, and holy shit.

Kendall's limbs reconnect to his brain somehow, and his hands find Logan's hips, pulling and kneading and urging him closer, close enough that he's pinned between Logan and the tree, sharp hipbones digging into his, their erections lined up beneath the two stupid, stupid layers of cloth.

Tangling a hand into Logan's hair, he holds on, threading his fingers into the strands, and tips his head back to give Logan better access to the swirling, sucking circles he's working into Kendall's neck. Kendall's not sure his legs are going to hold him up much longer, but telepathy must be at an all time high because Logan's arm around his waist is tightening, pulling him closer until Logan's practically supporting his weight, to the point that if Kendall felt himself collapse, he's pretty sure he wouldn't be going anywhere.

"Want you," Logan breathes into his skin.

"Jesus, fuck, I want you too - "

And his voice is ridiculous and squeakily desperate like he's fourteen, but it's apparently enough for Logan, who drops down to his knees before Kendall's even got the words out, tugging at Kendall's boxer briefs until they're sliding down his legs and he's exposed to the world - no, to Logan, because Logan wants him exposed, and fuck, this - this is that dream.

One glide of Logan's hands down his sides and his cock is curving up to his stomach, and Jesus, this is happening - in the middle of nowhere on an abandoned island on Christmas Eve, maybe, but fuck, it's happening, and fuck, and -

"I thought we weren't supposed to - "

"Shut up, it's Christmas and I want your dick in my mouth, all right?"

Kendall says something that sounds like "Gblrphmsh," and Logan swallows him down.

Kendall can't watch.

He knows, he tells himself not to, knows what'll happen if he does, that it'll all be over in eight seconds when he could stand for this to last eight hours. But it's Kendall, and willpower's always second to impulse, and he maybe lasts ten seconds before he has to open his eyes, stare down at the sight, and will himself not to come on the spot.

Good luck with that, pretty much.

Because it's Logan. On his knees. Lips wet and pink and closed tight around him, and he might even be smirking for all Kendall can tell in this light. He doesn't want to think about how it is that Logan clearly knows what he's doing, but that, that, is really not important, because he's coming undone in Logan's mouth and Logan knows it, knows he's the reason, knows he's the one reducing Kendall to this, humming against him as he tilts his head back to take him deeper, and that's it. It's over. It's over with Logan's fingers digging into his hips, with Kendall choking a warning that goes unheeded, with the lines of Logan's throat moving and constricting as he swallows.

Kendall feels extra sensitive to his surroundings all of a sudden when it's over; the distant sound of James and Carlos's laughter that carries through the trees; the far-off sound of waves curling toward shore; the insects warming up for their evening chorus.

When Kendall finally opens his eyes, Logan is back on his feet, inches away, their bodies flush once more, and Kendall can see the liquid sheen on Logan's lips, the milky white drop at the corner of his mouth, and before Kendall can think much beyond wow to infinity, Logan's mouth is back on his, their tongues swirling as Logan pushes the last of Kendall's release into his mouth, and in Kendall's surprise, his eyes dart open only to find Logan's wide and expectant, watching his reaction, and it's so fucking hot he kind of can't breathe.

Kendall yanks him forward to deepen the kiss, but despite it, when they finally separate, there's a little trail of come still dripping down Kendall's chin, and Logan smirks, fucking smirks, leaning in to lick it off in a slow, teasing stripe.

It dissolves to kissing, just kissing, and Kendall sort of wants to drop down to his knees right fucking now, but he's still having trouble remembering his name, so he figures he should probably wait.

"I'm sorry," Logan whispers finally against his lips.

"I." Kendall pulls back to look at him. "What in fucking god's name could you have to be sorry for right now?"

"I. I don't know, I just. This... wasn't very romantic. I didn't mean... I mean, I wanted it to be. I just... got carried away."

"Um, yeah, Jesus, Logan, so, you're totally like, way kinky and I had no idea and it's like, the greatest surprise ever. God, you totally suck."

"Shut up."

Kendall smiles, brushing the back of his hand lightly against Logan's cheek. "You want romantic?"

"I. Yeah. I do. Whatever, shut up."

Kendall's smile stretches wider, and he finds Logan's hands, squeezing them tight. "Come on."

It's hard to be heard over the roar of the water rushing down around them; they're soaked to the bone from crossing through the downfall, feeling the weight of the rapids beating down over their bodies for that half a second before finding themselves behind the falls, climbing up onto a smooth, wet surface of stone just big enough for their intentions.

It's dark behind the waterfall, even with the last bit of sun spreading out over the sky outside, and they fall backwards into the shadows, into the cool spray of mist, into each other like it's easy as breathing.

Kendall's mouth hovers a moment at Logan's ear before he whispers, "Is this what you had in mind?"

Logan's nod, his gasp, the far-gone flutter of his eyelashes are lost in the surroundings, but the way his fingers curl into Kendall's hair says everything, and when Kendall's mouth trails down his body, stopping to lick over every curve, every dip, across the lines of his ribs and the jut of his hips before closing around his cock, Logan thinks maybe nothing else really needs to be said, anyway.

Maybe six years was enough talk.

_"So, I'm sober."_

_Carlos's fingers clench a little tighter around the controller, pressing down hard on the blue button like it'll earn him back a life._

_"Uh, yeah, I've noticed... judging by how you've been kicking my ass all night."_

_"Yeah, you seem a little off your game tonight, what's up?"_

_Oh, the little fucker, thinking the monotone will save him. Carlos is not stupid. Logan's walls don't apply to him. He can hear the tremor in Logan's voice. He smiles at the TV. He thinks he should be scared, nervous, anxious, whatever, and he's not, and that just makes him smile bigger._

_"I don't know, man, maybe I've been distracted thinking about how sober you are."_

_Logan chuckles a little, his on-screen persona laying a particularly meciless blow on Carlos's, but it's breathless, and Carlos is quick to take advantage, slamming his thumb down hard on the controller and knocking Logan out. The action on the screen dissolves to slow motion and fades to black._

_Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Logan drop his controller to the floor, fingers twitching nervously in his lap as he slumps back against the foot of the bed, silent and ridiculous._

_Carlos rolls his eyes at nothing, inclines his head to Logan's, and snaps, "So do I have to take you on a date first or what?"_

_Logan turns to meet him, eyes wide. He looks like he might say something, but Carlos knows it'll only be snark, and seriously, he's barely fifteen and snark is for old monacled people who teach Shakespeare and argue philosophy (basically, Logan in fifty years), so he could really stand to just get down to the kissing right now._

_He licks his lips, blinking and swallowing equally hard, and drops his eyes to Logan's mouth._

_He's fifteen but he's not an idiot, and if Logan doesn't get the hint, he's totally swearing off kissing forever, because, Jesus._

_Logan gets the hint._

_It's slow, and it leads up to practically nothing, a barely-there press of lips, dry and closed-mouth, and Carlos is starting to get why Logan thought he needed to be drunk for this._

_Carlos pulls back an inch and whispers, "Tell me that's not what I've been waiting three weeks for."_

_There's a beat, maybe two, Carlos can't count and that kind of throws him for a loop, but before he can let it get to him, he finds himself flat on his back on his bedroom floor with Logan on top of him, Logan's mouth on his - more than on this time, in and around, pliant and fiery hot and yes, yes, yes. Logan's supposed to be tiny but it feels like he's everywhere, on every inch of Carlos's skin and creeping underneath. His tongue is desperate against Carlos's, like he's trying to fuse them, make them one, like he wants to crawl inside and stay there, safe and protected._

_Carlos wants to say, You are... always, you are._

"Wait wait wait, I've got one."

Kendall leans over the guitar to whisper in Logan's ear.

"The fuck? I'm, are, no, not singin' that crap."

"Just harmonize with me, jackass! It's for James!"

"Noooo!"

"You're such a dick when you're drunk!"

"He's a dick sober," Carlos points out, and Logan tries to flip him off, but apparently that takes too much coordination and he flops over onto Kendall's lap and laughs hysterically.

Kendall maybe loves his stupid drunk boyfriend crazy, crazy amounts.

And no, shut up, he doesn't still shiver every time the word dances across his mind.

"Hey. Hey." Kendall pokes at Logan until he sits up. "If you do it, James and Carlos'll make out."

"Fuck you!" Carlos snaps, or whatever the giggly, drawling, drunken version of snapping would be.

Kendall wiggles his eyebrows. "Yeah, Garcia? You want?"

Carlos arches an eyebrow, and something crazy, alcohol-fueled no doubt, leaps in Kendall's stomach. And, whoa.

"That reminds me," James interjects casually, sprawling back on the blanket, "I found a condom at the bottom of one of the suitcases."

Kendall feels his eyes stretch to the breaking point as they meet Logan's, the words pushing hard against his lips, but he holds them back, not daring to ask.

James looks up briefly, flashing him a grin. "And lube."

Logan flops onto his stomach, sprawling out indecently and letting out a weirdly drunken orgasmic wail.

"Um." Kendall swallows, blinking at James. "Hi, I love you? Give?"

James shrugs. "Meh."

Carlos cackles.

"Don't you 'meh' me, James Diamond!"

"It's called cockblocking," Carlos provides, head pillowed on James's thigh.

"It's called power," James amends. "I hid them."

"You're not giving them to us?!"

"Maybe. At some point. When I really want something from you."

"You suck!"

"Yeah. Sing me your song."

"You don't deserve a song!"

"You want to fuck? Sing me a song."

Logan is suddenly alert, grabbing for Kendall's hands and positioning them uselessly on the guitar. "Play."

Kendall's a little overthrown suddenly by images of Logan on top of him, beneath him, in every position imaginable, even the crazy ones that could only ever happen in like, a big porny Cirque du Soleil. But he stretches his fingers, draws in a deep breath, and begins to play.

Logan groans at the opening notes, and Carlos just laughs, but Kendall smiles as the words begin to spill off his tongue.

"Hey there James Diamond, what's it like in Indonesia? We're a thousand miles away but - oh shit, I totally can't rhyme this."

James laughs, hard and open, and Kendall, god, loves the sound so much he almost doesn't think about condoms and lube.

"Just sing the regular lyrics, you douche," James smiles, sitting up and pulling Carlos with him.

So Kendall complies, poking Logan at intervals to cue his harmony, and he feels himself sober up slightly as the music begins to seep into him, taking over the alcohol's effect with liquid, sinewy trails of notes that float across the fire. The press of Logan warm and loose against his side is distraction enough, but when the last chorus of the song rolls around, his eyes drift across the blanket and freeze there.

James is mouthing the words, Oh, it's what you do to me, eyes glazed over and staring into Carlos's, and Carlos's right there with him, smiling at him, a little nervous in that adorable, vulnerable way Carlos will always try to deny exists. And Kendall thinks, holy fuck, because he recognizes that look.

It's the way Logan looks at him every day.

Logan, stupid drunk Logan, is apparently, miraculously, a step ahead of him, blurting out, "Kiss already, you losers," deadpan and slurred, as Kendall draws out the last note on the strings.

Carlos splutters stupidly like the suggestion is out of fucking left field, and James just blushes, ducking his head and muttering, "Uh, I have a boyfriend," but quiet, like he knows it's the dumbest excuse in history, and he's grinning. He's grinning like it's - heh. Christmas.

"Um. Need... air. Oxygen. Um, molecules," Carlos announces, unfolding himself and crawling to his feet. Kendall watches him stumble down the beach to the edge, where the moon reflects off the water's movement, off the sway of Carlos's hair; he watches James, grinning stupidly to himself and staring down at his hands, at anything but Carlos.

"You're an idiot," Kendall tells him.

James looks up, smirking. "Whatever, I've still got the condom."

"Hate you. Hate you."

"Loathing. In excess," Logan concurs, even though it doesn't make much sense. Kendall smiles down at him, but Logan's eyes have followed Carlos, are trailing his every movement, the way Carlos cards a hand through his hair or pokes at the water with his foot.

Kendall squeezes his hand. "Do you need some air too?"

Logan's eyes meet his, suddenly focused, both answering and questioning, because they both know Kendall's offering more than air.

He's offering permission.

Kendall smiles. "Go on."

Logan manages to stand, somehow, but nearly topples when he leans over to whisper something into James's ear, indistinguishable but for how it makes James blush, and heads out after Carlos.

James sighs, shaking his head in defeat, maybe trying to shake off his own grin, and crawls across the blanket to lean up against Kendall and the palm tree behind him. Kendall accepts the affection gladly, curling an arm automatically around James's shoulders and toying with the soft, curving bits of hair at the nape of his neck.

"What'd he say?"

James nuzzles into the touch and sighs. "He told me Carlos gives great head."

"I. Serious?"

"Yeah."

Kendall snorts a little breathless puff of laughter, astonished only by realizing he really isn't jealous. At all.

Their eyes trail lazily over the figures in the distance, the way the tense silhouette of Carlos's body dissolves, liquifies as Logan comes up behind him and snakes arms around his middle.

"You scared?" James asks, tilting his head up.

Kendall doesn't ask of what?, because right now, no matter what, there's only one answer.

Kendall looks down, and their faces are so close he's practically smiling into James's lips. "No."

James grins. "I'm sure you're equally good at giving head."

"Is that a request?"

"Well I mean, I figure it's the next logical step, you've already given me a lapdance."

Kendall smiles, assaulted with images of James sprawled on Jett's couch, grin almost as wide as Kendall's, trying to keep his eyes anywhere but on the smoldering gaze Kendall had effected on him. You know, for the occasion.

"Whatever," Kendall coos, "you loved it."

"Whatever." James turns back to Logan and Carlos, and his eyes have barely adjusted focus before his jaw drops. "Holy shit."

Kendall's eyes follow, and the first glimpse, he thinks, should really do more than stir up a warm, liquid feeling in his stomach, a sensation he equates mostly to emotion and very few words. If there were a word to fit, it would simply be yes.

The silhouettes in the distance have joined their outlines, Logan's hands clasped in Carlos's, their fingers twining, shifting, releasing and reconnecting, and the simple intimacy of it is stunning. Their mouths are close, so fucking close, and when they touch, Kendall's heart stops in crazy awesome ways.

He has no idea how this is okay, how this could be right, but fuck, it is.

James shifts, slipping one hand into Kendall's, and the warm liquid feeling builds.

James smiles a little brokenly. "Do you get the feeling this is bigger than any of us?"

And it only barely makes sense, half-drunken potential nonsense that could or could not be profound.

Kendall thinks, could. Definitely could. Is.

He nods.

He knows Logan's behind him before he feels him. Fifteen years will do that. Carlos idly, drunkenly wonders if marriage is anything like this.

Logan snakes a pair of arms around him and he feels Logan's chin hook over his shoulder.

"So you want to have James's babies."

"Shut up, Jesus."

Logan's arms tighten. "Am I still not allowed to kiss you when I'm drunk?"

Carlos smiles, closing his fingers over one of Logan's hands and lifting it to his lips so Logan can feel, hoping that's answer enough.

But - "Kendall."

Logan smiles and tips his forehead to meet Carlos's. "Yeah."

"Yeah?"

Their lips are teasing now, ghosting over each other, sharing Carlos's precious oxygen. He half wishes Logan would open his eyes, curious to see how they would look, one illuminated by the fire and the other by moonlight. Pretty fucking amazing, he wagers.

Carlos whispers, "Yeah," like it's an answer, before their lips finally catch and don't let go.

It doesn't feel like seven years have gone at all, even though this time Carlos is the taller one, even though there's the faint brush of stubble on both sides, even though there's alcohol and questions no one wants to answer. Somehow, Logan's tongue is the same, hot and yielding and addicting, and for a solid minute, Carlos lets himself melt into Logan, lets Logan fuse them into one the way he'd always wanted.

Carlos breathes, "I know" against his mouth, senseless and without context, but it means the world to Logan and he sinks into Carlos like moonlight: soft, melting, but just that side of intangible.

Carlos thinks maybe someday - maybe someday soon - there won't be any more of Logan that's out of reach.

In January, Logan writes a love song, a real one, and not about two, about four.

It's cloaked in enough metaphors to be anything, to be less, to be safe.

On Valentine's Day, still not ready for knowing looks (Carlos's) or haywire enthusiasm (Kendall's), he shows James.

"It's not - okay, I mean, it's not, you know the bridge is all fucked up, we still have to work on it, but - "

James smiles, pressing two fingers gently against Logan's mouth. "Shut up and let me look, okay?"

Logan nods fervently, and James lifts his torch back up against the wall, peering in close to make out the reckless scrawl of notes spanning the length of a wall in layers, rows that actually resemble something close to bar lines. The melody seems pieced together from bits they'd been brainstorming, and the lyrics match up underneath well enough for him to start working out the rhythm of them in his head, the way it might sound in Kendall's voice, and by the second chorus he can already feel the bass line thumping through his veins.

Logan's biting on his nails when James finally looks up, eyes glossed over in a way only a musician's could. It's so fucking good and Logan's so fucking scared it isn't, and all James can think to do is lean forward and kiss him.

He doesn't stop to think about how little sense this makes, about when the hell a "fuck yes, I love it, you're brilliant" became easier to express in lips and tongue.

Not that there's tongue. Barely. It's nothing. It just got in the way, an accidental swipe across Logan's bottom lip before James pulls back, laughing.

"Sorry, sorry."

But Logan's laughing too, and there's no schoolgirl blush, no stammering, nothing to indicate anything's been fucked, even when James finds his eyes trailing over Logan's face a little too long, even when Logan's smile spreads wider than James's seen it in days and James belatedly notices how much Logan really didn't pull back when their mouths met.

Logan licks his lips - absently, James tells himself. "So, uh, you like it?"

"No. It totally blows."

"Shut up."

"Logan... it's amazing. Fuck. It's. Seriously."

Logan watches him for a long moment, face straight and sober, clearly trying to evaluate whether or not to believe him. James's still fighting to read it even as he watches, feels Logan draw closer, feels the air suddenly shift and morph between them, feels the delicate press of Logan's lips at the corner of his mouth.

James maybe stops breathing for a second, because Logan, Logan, just chose this above words - the only thing to ever be granted his implicit trust.

Back at camp, James taps on Kendall's shoulder, grinning bright. When Kendall turns around he says, "I kissed your boyfriend and I'm not sorry."

Kendall's lips twitch at the corners before he steals James's (Logan's) hat and races out to the ocean, waving it high in the air in triumph, a clear challenge.

James peels off his shirt and bounds after him. Vague and indistinct, he hears Logan yelling death threats if his hat gets wet.

James thinks about all the ways things change, and how, if you're lucky, the most important things don't.

On April 12, when Carlos and Kendall are halfway down the beach arguing about whose spear is bigger (no, really, there is measurement occurring, girth and length and how much the sharpness of the tip should count), James pulls Logan off to the side, presses a crinkly foil square and a little bottle into his hand, winks, and says, "Go get 'em, tiger," all cheese intended.

Logan blushes through the initial shock, tells James to shut up for good measure, and adds a thank you just before his mind is assaulted with twenty different images of what's so, so totally going to be happening after dinner; fuck.

Kendall has been so good, so fucking good about honoring Logan's request and not letting this happen, really, not letting it turn into furtive, twice-daily rendezvous behind the eighteenth tree along the path to the waterfall. For the sake of the group. And it's worth it, they both know it, but Logan knows how hard it is, not just because he senses the same urges and frustrations humming through his own skin, but because he can feel it when they touch, the tension radiating from Kendall's fingertips, aching to touch more, further, deeper, harder. He can see the twitch in Kendall's hands, the hard line of his jaw when it's clear he all he wants to do is grab Logan, throw him over the nearest whatever, and never look back.

What's kind of amazing is that he doesn't actually do it.

Kendal has changed in shocking ways since it all went down, almost like he's not quite got a hold on the fact that this is reality, and he's still trying to reconcile it with so many years of wanting but never thinking it would actually happen, actually be possible. His impulses, his jumpy lack of self control, all seem subdued now, manageable and matured, and despite the tension building from desire, he's calmer, at ease in a way Logan's never seen, and it's kind of amazing that all it takes is a flash of eye contact, a brush of Logan's hand against his hip, for a decent chunk of the tension to melt.

Still, for as long as they've waited, to have the opportunity literally at their fucking fingertips and not just be able to let everything go, the way they want... yeah, it's kind of motherfucking hell sometimes.

Logan's brain at least provides a continual consolation of when we get home, and he's pretty proud of himself for rarely letting that when shift to an if.

James has the courtesy of dragging Carlos off after dinner to show him That Thing, and Logan partly wants to crawl into a hole and die and never ever have sex, but he figures what James lacks in class and subtlety, he makes up for in totally getting them the hell out of there so Logan can get laid.

Bonus: Kendall is clueless.

"I can't believe they left me," he gripes for the third time as Logan clears away the last of the dinner, Kendall still happily engaged with the hackey sack Carlos somehow magically invented for him out of sand and, who knows, stuff. "Why don't I get to see the thing?"

"Because," Logan sighs, tossing a towel off to the side. Maybe clueless was overrated.

"Oh my god." His eyes widen, sparkly and knowing. "They're totally having sex, aren't they?"

Logan stands in front of him, staring blank and hard. "No."

"How do you know?"

"Because we are, dumbass," Logan breathes before surging forward, toppling them both backward onto the blanket in a flailing heap of tangled limbs.

He registers a halfhearted noise of discomfort as Kendall hits the ground with a thump, and Logan pulls back, breathless and bracing himself with a hand on either side of Kendall's shoulder.

"You okay?"

Kendall quirks a smile. "I landed on my ass, you fucker."

Logan grins, leaning in to nibble at his bottom lip. "Better than me landing on mine."

"You don't have an ass," Kendall reminds him softly, arching forward into the teasing kisses, hands clamped strong around Logan's hips as his thumbs stroke patterns into the skin above his waistband.

And Logan, Logan is totally done with surprises and trying to let this out in some clever way. He snakes his hand down to find Kendall's, clasping their fingers together and sliding Kendall's hand a little lower until it cups Logan's ass, and Kendall kind of squeaks.

"I think," Logan breathes hotly, dragging his mouth down Kendall's jawline as he begins a slow, liquid grind of his hips, "you're about to learn otherwise."

"Jesus, Mitchell."

Logan smiles into his skin, reaching one arm behind them to dig under the blanket and retrieve the items, and pressing them firmly into Kendall's free hand. Lifting his hand, Kendall's eyes burst to about twice their normal size, his mouth dropping open and his gaze flipping back and forth between Logan and his present.

"You - I - "

"Mmm," Logan agrees, already a little hazy. "Happy Belated Valentine's Day."

"Fuck, I love James." Logan starts laughing into his chest and at once Kendall's shaking his head, flushed with embarrassment. "I mean - "

"Yeah, smooth."

"Oh, you want smooth?"

And before Logan can drum up some snark or even blink, Kendall's flipped them over, gentle and effortless and, yeah, okay, smooth as all hell, and fuck if that isn't the hottest thing, ever.

Logan's pretty sure some embarrassingly turned-on noise escapes him, but he kind of doesn't care because Kendall's pressed down against him at every inch, already hard, the last trails of sun sweeping over his hair as Logan tangles a hand in it, and Jesus, they're totally about to have sex on a fucking beach at sunset, and the cliche of it should really be nauseating, but deep down, buried and secret, there's a tiny chance Logan might be a hopeless romantic, and right now, this is every kind of perfect.

And Kendall really is smoother than anyone gives him credit for, because somehow he manages to strip them both of their underwear and slick up his fingers without ever breaking their kiss. Logan's panting hard and heavy and justthisclose to begging by the time Kendall slips the first finger inside, dipping down to close his mouth around Logan's cock when he adds a second, curling them just so and fuck, does he ever know what he's doing, and thank god because at least one of them should. The combination of sensations pretty much reduces Logan to a shivering, whimpering mess, and it's so much better than what he'd imagined that it's practically a miracle he manages the coordination to snatch up the foil packet and bring it to his teeth, ripping clear through it.

Kendall is gentle, surprisingly steady and deliberate as he removes his fingers, accepting the packet and opening it the rest of the way. It's not until he's got it out, ready to roll on, that Logan feels him stiffen, freeze, and Logan forces his eyes to focus.

Kendall is holding it up, staring open-mouthed. "Logan."

"What the..."

"Dude. It's. You, uh - "

"No fucking way!"

"Shit. Yeah."

"Fuck!"

Logan stares from the ripped condom to Kendall, back and forth, like Kendall might somehow magically be able to fix it. Kendall, for his part, looks like he might either cry, laugh, or spontaneously combust.

Kendall swallows hard, trying to smile. "Is this the part where we burst out laughing?"

"No, this is the part where I say fuck the condom, let's do it."

He's already pulling at Kendall, easing them back down together but Kendall closes his hands softly around Logan's wrists, pushing himself back.

"I - Loges, no, I - I haven't been tested in like two years, we can't."

And he looks so genuinely pained, so fucking guilty to be disappointing Logan like this, that Logan kind of can't help but fall in love with him a little more.

He rolls his eyes, sighing hard and pulling Kendall down against him until his head is nestled against Logan's chest.

"Can I blow you?" Kendall asks softly.

"No, I'm sulking."

"Okay."

Logan sulks for a few minutes in peace and quiet, and finally says, "I'm sorry."

"Shh. It's okay. I mean, no, it's - it sucks. Like, a lot. But it's not - I'm sorry too."

"I want to go home." And even as he says the words, he can feel the sting building behind his eyes. He doesn't vocalize it that often, if ever anymore, and he tries to stop himself thinking about it too much because this is home now, no matter how much longer they're going to be here, another day, year, or the rest of their lives, and he's been taking it better than he would've at any other point in his life, but. Still, there are times.

Kendall shrugs, but tugs him a little closer. "Wherever you are is home for me."

Jesus. He seriously has the greatest boyfriend ever and doesn't deserve it at all.

"I love you," he says.

"I love you too." Kendall shifts until they're both on their backs, his arm tucked under Logan's neck, and he curls his hand into Logan's. "Look, hey. We get the same constellations here as back home, right?"

"I guess?"

"Yeah... yeah, look." He stretches out the arms of their joined hands and extends his index finger toward a cluster of stars. "There's the dancing elephant. And oh, yeah, see, there's the snow cone, and there's the half-eaten frog."

Logan starts trembling with laughter, inclining his head to catch a glimpse of Kendall's face, alight with excitement. "This is what happens when we don't go to college."

Kendall turns to face him, his eyes and smile bright even in the dark, and in that moment, Logan doesn't think about Los Angeles or lost lives or broken condoms.

He thinks only, I'm in love.

James spends the second week of May fighting in earnest with the plane's radio, having finally recovered its last missing piece.

Despite it, morale is low and tempers are high.

Fishing has been rough with the change in weather for reasons no one understands; the spring storms are getting harsher and more frequent, requiring daily hours spent reconstructing camp. With the long-established two-at-a-time rule for traveling, no one's had time to make the trek for fruit in weeks, so Kendall's sex-and-sugar-deprived. Logan's just sex-deprived and morose and spends most of his free time in the caves with his guitar and sometimes James, churning out lyrics and melodies that may or may not be amazing, as he can't see their worth past the weather's skyrocketing temperatures and his own angst.

Carlos spends a lot of his time crouched by the water and staring angrily at his spear like it's committed unspeakable sins.

James is quieter, but he can feel the desperate eyes on him as he works long hours on the radio, trying different ways of fitting pieces together and working hard to keep any moisture away from it.

At the end of the week, a storm tears through camp and by the time they find the radio, there's only one waterlogged piece left.

It hits Logan hardest, and even he's not sure why.

It's the finality of it, maybe, knowing it's another item to cross out on the "ways to get saved" list, and that the list is getting shorter and shorter by the month.

He blinks once, twice, when James tells them, and cracks.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

James opens his mouth, closes it, looks around at the others, and Carlos says, "Logan," low and quiet.

"How could you fucking let this happen?" Logan spits. "You were so fucking close, you should've been more careful! You should've fixed it sooner!"

"Logan." It's louder this time, and Carlos's eyes have narrowed.

"Fuck off, Los, I'm not talking to you."

"Fuck you, Logan, you're not allowed to take this out on James, we're all in this together, and Jesus, we wouldn't even fucking be here if it weren't for you!"

It's a low blow and ridiculous and unintended, but if Logan wants to be an ass, Carlos can certainly match him.

"Oh, yeah," Logan scoffs, "that's rich, you know it was your god damn birthday too, and it's not like I wanted the damn plane."

Carlos barks a laugh. "Like hell, Gustavo's had a hard-on for you since day one and you just eat it up, like it's not enough Kendall's been in love with you for six years or that I've - "

No one breathes for a solid minute, but the sparks flying between Logan and Carlos's eyes are loud enough.

Before anyone can try to guess what the end of Carlos's sentence might've been, he adds a harsh, "Just, fuck you," for good measure, to make them stop guessing.

Logan swallows hard. "Go."

"Go fucking where?"

"Just go. I don't want you here right now."

"Well this is fucking camp, Logan, I live here too."

James steps forward, gently closing a hand over Carlos's arm. "Come on, let's go."

"No!"

"I'll go with you, come on."

Carlos jerks away, but stalks off into the forest with his spear. James glances nervously between Logan and Kendall before taking off after him, the sound of their limbs wading through the brush fading quickly, like they'd never been there at all.

They're walking an hour in no known direction before James ventures to ask.

"Where are we going?"

"Don't fucking know," Carlos mumbles. "He told me to go, I'm going."

"I - I don't think he meant permanently, Litos."

"I know, James."

It's another hour and miles further than any of them have been from camp before James gets the nerve to ask, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"I just - it'll be getting dark soon, and - "

"So what. We can camp here."

"Dude, they'll be worried sick."

"I don't care."

"Los."

And there, in the space where James expects a snap, an outburst, anything at all in Carlos's voice, is instead the sound of a sharp, muffled ping that sounds absolutely nothing like anything on this island, like no animal or noise of nature they've heard thus far, and when Carlos makes a choked, startled sound beside him, his hand lifting to curl around his neck, James jerks around and the sight nearly steals his balance right out from under him.

Carlos is looking at him with a slightly furrowed brow like he's just barely confused, but his pupils are suddenly blown and glazy, and beside the hand on his neck, a trickle of red is snaking down from a small, black, stick-like object embedded in his skin, no longer than a cigarette and barely half as wide.

James lunges forward as Carlos's balance falters, unable to construct any coherent speech, and he's attempting to ease Carlos back to his feet when a second ping shoots through the air, closer, and this time James can feel it, sharp and biting in the back of his own neck, and he thinks maybe he hears a voice before his vision gives out completely, but the words are lost in his ears before they reach his brain as he feels himself sink to the floor, his limbs numbing as Carlos slips from his arms.


	14. Chapter 14

_"Fucking - fuck, keep doing that."_

_"This?"_

_"Yeah... yeah... shit."_

_And Carlos really, really wants to kiss him right now but that would make Logan stop talking, and he's pretty sure just listening to his voice like this could be his undoing._

_He fits himself a little closer against Logan's side, twists his wrist just so like Logan wants, swiping his thumb gently over the head, pressing just a bit on the slit. Logan fucking keens, jerking up into Carlos's hand, his arms tightening around Carlos's neck as he yanks him down, their lips crashing so Carlos's mouth can catch his moan, and good thing, too, because his mom is seriously like ten feet and one layer of drywall away and Logan, well. He isn't quiet._

_And that's weird, because he's quiet all other times, but yeah, it would make sense that he's not, now, using this to let go, to let himself out. And after the week he's had, jumping from hospital visits to class and back, that may be all he wants, all he needs._

_And that, just that, Carlos thinks, that would maybe be enough._

_"Let go," he whispers against Logan's lips. "I've got you, let go."_

_Logan's jaw goes slack, his eyelids dropping shut, lashes fanning against his cheek, dark and full, and Carlos feels the wet heat spill over his knuckles._

_Logan's breathing so hard as he pulls Carlos's head down to rest on his chest that Carlos is worried he's restricting his oxygen intake. But Logan's holding him too tight to move, one arm curled snug around his neck and the other around his torso. It's a bit of an awkward angle with Carlos's one hand trapped between them and the other underneath him, itching to hold, to touch._

_"Don't go, okay?" Logan whispers._

_"Where would I go? It's my bed."_

_"Just. Don't get up."_

_"I'm not. Hey. I'm not." Carlos maneuvers them until he can wipe his hand off on the side of the sheet and then tuck his arm around Logan. "I'm here."_

_"Always be here."_

_"Yeah, I swear. Are you okay?"_

_Logan nods, but he doesn't offer anything more. Carlos lifts himself up onto his elbow, because Logan's always easier to read when you can see his eyes. But Logan knows that, and he's got them squeezed shut._

_"Hey," Carlos says again, touching his cheek._

_Logan obliges, blinking up at him, and swallows. "Can I..." He reaches between them, cupping Carlos through his underwear, and oh, yeah, hello, he's hard. Maybe forgot about that. Fuck._

_"Um. Yeah. Duh."_

_Logan gives him a gentle squeeze, eyes still locked on Carlos's. "Like... with... my mouth?"_

_Oh sweet Jesus. And. Maybe they haven't done that yet. And also, fuck yes._

_Carlos's vision goes a little fuzzy for a second. "I - you - you want to blow me?"_

_Logan smirks. "You're so vulgar."_

_"And whatever," Carlos rolls his eyes; Logan's phase of intermittent prudeness has been in effect three weeks, and that's three weeks too long. "You're like, a grandpa, and a sappy romantic."_

_"Shut the fuck up, can I blow you or not?"_

_"Dude, I - " Seriously, Carlos would actually flail if his arms weren't occupied. "Like I'm gonna say no; Jesus."_

_Logan crawls out from under him, slinking down Carlos's body and pulling his underwear with him as he goes. And god. Yeah. This was definitely, definitely not overrated. This is worth every last bit of hype. Or maybe Logan's kind of just a natural. Carlos can tell he has never done it before but only because of the way Logan's looking at him, unsure and always, always seeking approval. You have it, Carlos wants to say. God, does he ever have it._

_But he's a little busy making noises that don't resemble words in any way, and when Logan finally snakes a hand up his body to cup over his mouth, it's kind of so fucking hot Carlos comes before he can warn._

_Logan doesn't complain, just splutters a bit but swallows what he can before crawling back up Carlos's body, and drapes himself over it, nestling his head under Carlos's chin._

_Carlos can feel the smile against his skin, and it makes him shiver._

_"Best idea ever?" Logan asks._

_Carlos angles his head until he can press his own smile against the side of Logan's face. "Best idea ever."_

xxxxxx

"He didn't mean any of it."

Six years and finally knowing precisely what Logan looks like just before he comes (boneless and gasping, his own fingers tightening in Kendall's, eyes wide open, perfect) has done nothing to help Kendall decode those bits of Logan that only Carlos can ever seem to tap into.

But as opening lines go, he figures that's pretty safe.

Logan looks up at him, eyes cold with a twinge of misdirected venom. "I did."

Kendall sighs gently. "Logan."

"Don't. Just. I don't need you to soften it, okay?"

"I'm not. You were both assholes. But I know neither of you meant it."

Logan spares him half a glare, but his voice is weak, diminished, when he turns away, fixing his eyes on a tiny shell just washed up in the surf where they're seated. "Do you think it's my fault we're here?"

"Logan. Jesus." Kendall doesn't even know how to say no as emphatically as he means it, so he just curls his fingers into Logan's in the water, squeezing hard. He says "No, no," for good measure, "and neither does he."

"Gustavo's always been... a thing. For him," Logan says. "I think... he worries we maybe got the deal because Gustavo - because I - I don't know. Because Gustavo liked me more than the actual music."

Kendall runs his thumb softly across the back of Logan's hand underwater, feeling the skin shift easily as the last ghost of a wave spills over them. "Are you sure that's what Carlos thinks?"

Logan doesn't answer, but after a moment he leans his head into Kendall's shoulder, and Kendall knows it means I concede defeat, and I don't hate you for it. He's grateful for small favors.

Out over the water, Kendall's line of vision is cut short by the direct, blinding glare of the sun, red hot on the horizon as it begins a slow descent, and he glances back over his shoulder at the spot of forest where they'd disappeared. It's been three hours, and everyone knows Logan only ever needs a maximum of two and a quarter to cool off and remember he's not the center of the universe.

Kendall turns back, nestling his chin over the top of Logan's head as he hauls him closer with his free arm, and thinks, Any time now, dickheads.

The sunset is all neon pinks and glowing shades of carrot-orange now. Always brightest, deceptively alluring, just before the fall.

Logan hasn't moved, arms still trapping his knees firm against his chest, even though the tide has come halfway up his calves, the waterline pooling around his waist. From shore, Kendall can see the outline of his spine as Logan hunches over slightly, and even from far off, it's obvious he's shaking.

But he has been shaking for half an hour, and when Kendall tried, Logan gently asked to be left alone.

Kendall's not stupid. He doesn't think confessions of love and getting each other off means the universe is going to shift under their feet. Logan is still Logan. It's reassuring, in a way, but, it hurts more now, knowing he's allowed to touch, to hold, to comfort, just - not now. Now, when it matters most; when he wants it most.

Luckily, he's pretty fucking distracted with half their band still missing and all; the threat of impending doom, and all that.

Kendall swallows down something bitter that tastes like terror and tries to pretend he's onstage, to chase that long-lost taste of magic, of complete escape, where he could find all his comfort in a thousand nameless faces.

Safety in numbers.

Logan doesn't return to the beach until his only other option becomes death by tide.

Kendall's been pacing for an hour, and he's starting to get blisters from spinning on his heel in the sand every ten feet to switch directions.

The sun's sped up on the last minutes of its descent, Kendall could swear to god.

He stops when Logan's in front of him, soaking and shivering despite lingering temperatures in the low thousands, and when he lifts his face, Kendall squints past wet, matted curtains of hair to the puffy red flesh around his eyes.

"Logan," he breathes, and Logan falls into him, a new round of sobs wrecking through body, making it harder for Kendall to hold him up, but he does, even as Logan slumps lifeless against him until Kendall's backed up against a palm tree, feeling the rough layers drag across his skin, and it reminds him of Christmas, of the best fucking blowjob ever, and he wonders how he ever managed to forget how fucking horrible their lives are supposed to be now, here.

Logan holds onto him now the way Kendall used to hold onto him in Kendall's apartment on East Clairmont, where the living room always smelled like stale fruit because Kendall hardly ever bothered to wash his work uniform, and where Logan would come over to crash because there was no point in both of them being alone and lonely. Curled up together on Kendall's futon, the metal bars digging into their joints through the thin mattress, those were the only times Logan let him cling as hard and as long as he wanted, with no protest.

Kendall isn't used to being the strong one. That's James's role, and Carlos's.

It feels weird. Fucking weird. Kendall always had his parents and his family to make him feel safe, and the band seamlessly took over the role when the first collapsed. Carlos was mom enough for everyone, and James fit in beside him like the puzzle piece they'd never known they were missing.

Now, for the first time, even since they've been on the fucking island, Kendall feels lost.

"In the morning," he whispers into Logan's salt-wet hair. "We'll leave in the morning. We'll find them."

xxxxx

_James wants to think he knows what's coming. But there was that stupid, stupid time he'd thought Jett was about to say "I'm in love with you" and he was still reeling from the realization that he might've said it back by the time Jett actually said, "They want me to film in England."_

_But Logan's smiled at him like eighteen times today, and James is not sure Logan's ever smiled eighteen times before in a whole week. Kendall's been bouncing in entirely literal terms all evening, and Carlos has been grinning at the floor every time James speaks to him. Then there was that text message from Gustavo that consisted simply of a smiley face, and the one that followed a few minutes later from Hawk, offering, blowjob every day for a yr if u come back to us? :(((( 3. That wasn't even enticing._

_The Big Time Rush family is many, many wonderful things. Subtle is not one of them._

_So James figures, fuck the doubts. He's just going to feel really stupid if he's wrong (really disappointed, he's not too proud to admit), and that's that._

_The whispers are still circulating in the back lounge when Carlos manages to escape and snake his way through the bus to where James is seated up front, nursing a midnight coffee out of a cardboard cup from when they'd passed a Starbucks six cities back. He has reheated it twice in the microwave, but just can't seem to get past a few sips._

_Without looking up, he can tell it's Carlos from the smell of his shampoo, and something in James's chest clenches hard and panicked at the possibility of having to say goodbye to these boys, now or ever._

_Carlos doesn't sit, but creeps up behind him, plants his hands on James's shoulders, leaning in with his lips at James's ear, and James suddenly forgets what he was worried about, or that there could be anything to worry about ever, and, hi, Carlos's mouth._

_He's so close James can hear him swallow before he whispers, "They're arguing about which one of us gets to tell you we want you back. Try to act surprised."_

_James chokes a little, and it's embarrassing because he wasn't even drinking his coffee. When he looks up, Carlos has slid into the seat opposite him and is watching him with a secret, blinding smile that James is pretty sure has magical powers. His mind even begins turning around Latin phrases in his mind to make a Harry Potter spell out of it before he notices the smile has faltered just a bit, and Carlos blinks._

_"You'll say yes, right?"_

_James doesn't think 'yes' will cover it, so he only smiles, that wide, open, end-all smile that Jett and Lucy both claim could knock someone out if they stared at it too long._

_Kendall and Logan are working through the final stages of bickering by the time they shuffle through to the front, working hard to walk in front of one another, and the creepy part is, there's almost no need; they're so tiny they could practically walk side by side through the bus with little trouble._

_The voices die when they spot James already seated and Carlos beside him. Logan takes a deep breath, the corners of his lips tugging upward a bit, and says, "James."_

_That's all he gets out before Kendall squeaks, squeaks, and lunges forward, throwing himself at James. Full harlequin romance style and everything. James half expects to feel a heaving bosom pressing into his chest._

_"Kendall!" Logan whines, accenting each syllable in a manner that is clear substitute for stamping his foot._

_"Say yes," Kendall whispers into James's hair. "Fuck, say yes."_

_"I dunno," James sighs, holding Kendall at arm's length. "I think maybe you should get down on one knee, proper and all."_

_"Sweet!" Kendall grins, dropping instantly to the ground to position himself._

_Logan steps forward. "Dude, my paper beat your god damned rock twice, I get to tell him."_

_"All right, Mitchell," James smirks. "On your knees."_

_Kendall cackles, backing up and gleefully shoving Logan forward. James expects a lot of things then, a slap, an eyeroll, a no-nonsense invitation or all three, but he most definitely does not expect Logan fucking Mitchell to drop down to one knee (sighing, maybe, but still), and make a grab for James's hand, turning it nervously in his spidery-long fingers._

_"Oh my god." Carlos. Amusement masking as you're-so-lame-I-can't-believe-you're-doing-this. James feels something warm stir inside him to think maybe he knows them that well, after all._

_"Whatever, they've ruined it," Logan says wryly, glaring at Kendall and Carlos before giving James his attention. "Well?"_

_"Well what?"_

_"You asshole! Will you stay with us, always and forever, till death do us part? We missed you for the last week and never want to lose you again. Jesus."_

_James smiles, the blinding knockout kind. Its effects are apparently not lost on Logan, who goes a little melty and smiles back. "Yeah," James says. "Yeah, I think I could do that."_

_Logan crawls up instantly, practically into his lap, throwing his arms around James. The angle's awkward, and James has to snatch up his coffee at the last second before it's knocked askew all over the table, but Logan feels so genuine, so right, that James knows he'll never, ever regret this decision - as if it was a decision at all._

_"Thank you," Logan whispers. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."_

_Something in his voice tells James it's really, really not just him returning to them after a short stint as a solo artist. He knows, then, that this is bigger than the band. Bigger than any of them._

_It doesn't make sense and he doesn't care. He knows someday it will, when the time's right. Maybe when they're drunk and curled around a campfire on the beach, watching fingers intertwine and lips meet and knowing it could be either of them, any of them, and it would be just as right, every time._

_xxxxxx_

Carlos wakes up without really waking up. And that's. Not impossible, not unheard of, really, but it's been a long time since he's been that drugged, and the throbbing bite of pain in his neck tells him this time didn't have anything to do with Kendall's "magic" brownies.

That's about as evolved as his thinking gets, not even letting him process emotions yet, just recognition of basic senses - and James. But then, Carlos is not entirely sure James is not a sense on his own. Like a sixth James-sense. The way he and James can tell when each other is near. Can they do that? It'd be totally awesome if they could. Carlos thinks maybe they can. Maybe they've been doing it forever. Yeah... yeah, they have.

Or maybe he's just not awake yet.

But James is the first thing he sees when dim, dirty light begins to spill into his eyes from the tiny window (window, holy fuck, extracted from a vocabulary Carlos hasn't used in months), bright and too much even though there's scarcely any at all. His neck protests violently as he tilts it sideways toward James, but he tries to ignore it in favor of, hey, James. Apparently his voice doesn't feel like ignoring it, though, because he belatedly registers a pathetic whine that he only realizes is his own when James's head jerks up, his eyes guarded, dark and sharp and over-alert, like a hunted animal. And that - that's Logan's look; on James it's terrifying and unrecognizable and just, god, so weird and so, so bad, because all it can mean is James is not safe.

And if James is not safe, Carlos has got nothing.

James unfolds his legs where he's slumped against a wall (wall? there are walls? walls exist again?) and scrambles across what Carlos may or may not register as a dirt floor. That could be his not-really-awake imagination, though, just supplying possibilities for why James's practically covered in dirt, streaks smeared across his face - from tears, probably, because Carlos can't smell salt water anywhere, which means they're nowhere near home, and since when did camp become home, and since when does James cry, and - Kendall. Kendall should be here. Kendall makes warm things settle into Carlos's stomach. Like hot caramel maybe. He won't ever admit that, but. And Logan. Logan needs to be here, like whoa. Logan, shit, really needs to be here because Carlos remembers what happens when he goes too many days (hours?) without Logan close enough to touch, his fingers will start itching and his hands'll get sweaty and he'll keep losing things and - Jesus, is that what that was? Was it because of Logan? Is he seriously just now figuring that out? What the fuck does that mean? And why isn't Logan here?

Most of those thoughts don't quite make it to words, let alone speech, and when Carlos opens his mouth, he finds his throat clenched shut in a blaze of dry heat.

"Hey. Hey." James's hands are on him, everywhere, and he forgets what he wanted five seconds ago. "Can you hear me?"

Carlos blinks. He thinks maybe he should say something, but he mostly just doesn't want James to stop touching him.

"Jesus. Los. Please. Say something."

Carlos works his throat until he manages to swallow. "You look like shit."

James smiles, so beautiful and bright in the damp-dark of the room (room? rooms exist?) and squeezes Carlos's hand like a lifeline. "You don't exactly look your usual princess self, asshole."

"Fuck you."

"Jesus, Los." James is all around him now, pulling him up into his arms until Carlos is roughly vertical. His legs are stiff and his arms are bruised and he's pretty sure his back doesn't really work anymore, but the fact that he can physically feel all this is going to have to count as a win. He's able to bunch his hands in the ripped fabric of James's shirt, and, yes, hands, he's still got them and they're working and that means he can still touch.

Priorities shift a bit when his eyes finally focus: window and walls and room may have been a little generous.

It sounds great when you put it like that; captive in civilization has got to be better than freedom in isolation, right?

Maybe a year ago Carlos would have argued, Logan-style, that freedom in isolation is an oxymoron; that isolation, the kind on the island, is a trap in itself.

But that would've been a year ago.

The key word, anyway, is civilization, and whatever this is, it isn't.

The cube of space, about ten by ten, is dirt on all six sides, floor and ceiling and walls, packed hard and cold around them. Digging would be impossible as there's nothing they could use to hide the hole; fucking movies. The "window" is a small, lopsided rectangle no bigger than a textbook at the top of the wall opposite them, too high to even reach unless someone stood on someone's shoulders, and even then, too small to crawl out. No glass, no bars, just a useless, primitive hole opening up to the ground above. On the wall to their right is an entrance, thick branches lined up together to form what looks like it's supposed to be a door, but not the kind designed for walking out.

More like the kind designed to prevent it.

Carlos's senses finally come back in a rushed, dizzying wave as a shadow crosses the window, dimming the light in the room (chamber, cell, Jesus fuck), before a pair of feet follow, padding over the ground outside and disappearing. Voices sound somewhere above them, but not too far off, and every so often the muffled thump of footsteps over them will cause a trace of dirt to drop from the ceiling, floating into powder before it reaches them. When Carlos finally looks at James, James's eyes are trained hard on the invisible world above.

"Where are we?" Carlos whispers.

James shakes his head, but when the voices grow louder and then fade altogether, footsteps replacing their sound, James squeezes Carlos's hand so hard Carlos almost cries out, barely noticing James's mouth is at his ear, lips almost covering the shell to cloak the words that spill out in a rough, jolted whisper.

"Until I say otherwise, don't let them know we're close. Keep emotion out. Don't speak unless I say. Don't look me in the eye; your eyes betray everything, Litos. And don't use my name." He pauses a minute as if trying to catch back some breath. "Do you understand?"

Carlos nods because James's tone is nothing he's ever heard in his life and he's afraid to do anything else. He doesn't want to ask how James seems to have this figured out, how he's so convinced this is bad. So they're underground; their spears are gone and the Swiss Army knife James has kept with him since August is gone, but they're alive, they're not injured beyond the small wounds in their necks. There are people, fucking human beings and they haven't killed them. This isn't the movies; this doesn't mean some dark-skinned chief with war paint streaked across his face and a shark tooth nose piercing is going to march in and scalp them. This could be a town, a completely fucking regular place, with fucking telephones and electricity and okay, so it's a little primitive maybe but, people. People!

Carlos's heart's racing so fast he barely has enough time to think how he's clearly been away from Logan too long if this kind of optimism is taking over him.

The footsteps are suddenly so close Carlos practically jumps out of his skin, and at once the warmth of James beside him is gone as James jerks himself away as fast as Carlos can blink, planting himself at the opposite wall and keeping his eyes deliberately away.

Voices are humming low as the two figures appear behind the thick wooden bars of the door, peering in before swinging it open and stepping inside.

Carlos doesn't breathe. His brain's sending far too much energy to his eyes to bother accommodating oxygen.

There's no war paint, no nose piercings. No elaborate costumes or feather headdresses.

But their skin is dark, a deep, commanding red-brown, boasting thick, black circles drawn in around their eyes, and Carlos recognizes the texture and shade from the substance Logan had used in a dash of Halloween firelight to chase lost memories and reconnect with them on levels they hadn't known they'd been missing.

The men each have three piercings in their lower lips, rings on each finger, practical-looking hats made from leaves to shield out sun, and minimalist skirts cut from tiger pelts. Belts hang loose and low on their hips, with pouches attached, and Carlos recognizes the small, sharp sticks stuffed into them as the ones previously embedded into their necks. The taller one holds a spear, bigger and more far more sophisticated than anything they'd devised at camp, and the other is carrying a huge tray of food, elaborate fruits and nuts and cooked meats soaked in tantalizing spices and despite the dry terror in Carlos's throat, his mouth begins to water.

The food-bearing one stalks casually across the cell and places the tray on the ground. He looks like he's trying not to stare, but Carlos doesn't miss the furtive glances shot to him and James, and the intrigue clear in the man's eyes, like he's never seen anything quite like them. He marches out the door past the man with the spear, and another man, shorter still and younger, marches in with another tray, similarly stuffed with mouth-watering delights.

He leaves, and it happens again, a third man, a third tray, and Carlos suddenly feels like Abu in the Cave of Wonders, and doesn't think he's going to be able to hold out very long on James's orders before gushing his thanks and digging in.

Thoughts of Aladdin take him then to Kendall, and Logan, and how they aren't here, and something churns in his stomach, sick and not-right, and he forgets to be hungry.

The men all disappear but the tallest one with the spear, and he watches the others leave before turning back to them. James's watching the man carefully and Carlos follows suit, trying to wipe the fear from his face.

The man takes a step forward and begins babbling gibberish, things Carlos suspects are words but don't resemble any language he's ever heard. The man seems oblivious, talking wildly, gesturing with his spear to him and James and to the food. There's passion in his voice, and it's clear he's trying to get something across. Carlos may be biased, but he's pretty much convinced the message is, Eat.

Carlos almost swallows his tongue when James stands up, and the man is quick to follow, lunging forward until his spear is inches from James's throat, and Carlos feels himself twitch, ready to leap up, but a sharp, fleeting, barely-there glance from James warns him otherwise. James immediately holds his hands up in surrender, backing up until he's against the wall, but he doesn't back down, doesn't break eye contact, and when the man steps back a few inches, James turns one hand until his palm is flat against his chest.

"English," he says slowly, evenly, patting himself. "I speak English."

The man stares at him, like he's trying to evaluate if the information is going to be useful, but it's pretty clear the words are like Greek to him. His eyes make a slow descent over James's body then, eyeing him thoroughly, calculating. Suddenly he's babbling again, gesturing at James's shirt, making a quick swipe at it with one hand and gesturing for him to remove it.

James obliges, peeling it off carefully and holding it out in his hand. The man snatches it up, inspects it, and stuffs it in his belt. His eyes trail over James again with purpose, intent, deliberate inspection, before he's wrinkling his nose in dissatisfaction, stepping back and launching into another trail of meaningless, animated dialogue, gesturing frantically at James, the food, at Carlos, the food, and various combinations of the three. He backs up toward the door, making one last hard point with his spear in Carlos's direction, spitting some clearly significant words, points to the food one last time, and slips out of the door, securing it in some elaborate fashion that is entirely lost on Carlos.

His footsteps trail off and upward until they're gone, and Carlos is clambering to his feet and throwing himself toward the center of the room, only hoping James will meet him halfway.

He does.

Carlos has no idea how they're managing to stand up, because his legs are shaking so hard, the way they might after really intense sex, only the post-orgasmic haze is replaced by, you know, complete and utter terror. James is pretty much shaking from head to toe, but it doesn't stop him from holding Carlos so close they've practically merged.

"James - James, what is it, what are they, why are we, what's - "

"Los - "

"And Logan, Kendall, they're, they can't, they're alone, James, they - "

"Shh. Carlos, shh!" And it takes Carlos a minute to realize James is actually serious, not just shushing to comfort him. "Look at me. Look at me." His voice is low, quiet, but dead focused as he takes Carlos's face in his hands, his fingers slipping a bit from Carlos's sudden downpour of tears, but Carlos looks. He looks, because James asked him to. "You listen to me, Carlos Garcia. It's gonna be okay. Okay? I've got you. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, or Kendall or Logan. I swear."

And it doesn't sound like anything James hasn't been implying for years, and even past the fear in his voice, the words somehow settle him enough that he can stand on his own. James doesn't let go of him though, hands still loosely cupped around his elbows, until Carlos's eyes dart away and he remembers the food.

"Fuck," he gasps, pulling free of James and lunging toward the trays. "At least they feed us well."

"Carlos."

He doesn't quite make it to the ground before James's touch is back, harder, gripping his arm with enough force to urge Carlos back to his feet, slowly turning back. James won't meet his eyes, keeps his own set hard and wary on the food.

"What?" Carlos urges. "Is - you think it's poisoned?"

Slowly, James shakes his head, eyes never leaving the trays.

"Then what? Maybe they're not bad, James, maybe they're just trying to figure out how to help - maybe they're scared of us, I - "

"Litos."

"What?!"

James's eyes shut for a moment, and when they reopen, he lifts them to Carlos's. "I think. I think they're trying to fatten us up."

Carlos kind of snorts then, and the smile feels strange on his lips, foreign and unnatural at a time like this. "I really, totally don't have a problem with that."

"Carlos."

When he looks up this time, James's eyes are apologetic, terrified but strangely guilt-stricken, like a parent who has to tell their kid their pet died, only like, times that by twenty.

It's enough to stop Carlos from breathing again, the oxygen catching his his throat as James opens his mouth.

"Los, I. I think they're cannibals."

It's creepy as fuck, how quickly things earn familiarity without your permission; things you never want to become familiar with as long as you live.

By the third morning on nothing but water and one mango a day, Carlos's lightheadedness hasn't stopped his brain from settling into a dizzy, half-aware recognition of routine.

Every morning the spear-bearing man and one or two cohorts arrives to inspect them, scream at them for their refusal to eat, and bring in more trays of food, each more tempting than the ones from the day before. In the afternoon, they get more water, more yelling, and more food that goes untouched. They spend as much time as they can perched on each other's shoulders, trying to peek through the window up top to observe as much as they can to learn what they'll need to know to get out. Somehow.

There are at least a hundred of them, they've figured. And two of James and Carlos.

After the first night, they don't watch out the window after dark, because shit happens around the tribe campfire that's going to cost them years of therapy as it is.

James talks about plans, and spends hours fucking with the door, but the way it's locked is out of his reach, and he spends the rest of the hours with the anxiety vivid in his eyes, debating internally whether he should try to make Carlos eat more and risk their approval, or keep him gaunt and safe from their clutches.

James starts babbling a lot without food, but Carlos is sleeping too much to be properly freaked the fuck out.

On the third morning, they get six lashes across their backs until they consent to eat one of the meats that ends up tasting like chicken. Carlos thinks that's a bad sign. His body agrees, and spews it back up after they leave.

He passes out with tear streaks still wet on his cheeks, with James hovering over him, pressing kisses to the fresh marks across his back and promising things Carlos doesn't register through the food-deprived haze of his last lingering consciousness.

On the fourth morning, they take James away.

Carlos knows something's awry when more arrive in the morning than usual - one to oversee; two, as it turns out, to grab hold of James and start dragging him to the door, his eyes locked to Carlos's, desperately promising; and two to hold back Carlos when he flips eight shits and starts tearing for the door, writhing in their grasp and screaming James's name until he's hoarse, until he loses balance, too weak to keep fighting them.

James's eyes warn, and Carlos remembers, don't say my name, don't let them know, but it's too late. The man with the spear stares at Carlos, his eyes narrowed with the onset of awareness.

Carlos doesn't eat all day.

That night, for the first time in ten months, the sun dares to go down without James by his side.


	15. Chapter 15

_It isn't supposed to happen like this._

_Carlos has always been pretty good at making things happen the way he plans, but when it comes to Logan, when it comes to this, apparently that steadfast, focused confidence just starts to shake, like a top spinning smooth on that one fixed point, but the slightest gust of air can send it off balance, wobbling and reeling until it collapses._

_It was supposed to go like this: Logan shows up at four fifty-six, just like every Friday afternoon. They order pizza, dick around on the guitar and drums until the horror movie marathon kicks off on the Sci-Fi channel at eight, at which point they collapse on Carlos's bed because his parents have living room TV dibs on Fridays. Between popcorn and a commercial break, Carlos mentions it like it's nothing._

_Because it's not. Anything. It's nothing._

_If it's anything, it's a good something. This is totally good news. And Logan will be happy, because it was his idea anyway, and Logan is always happy when his plans work out. And seeing Logan happy is enough._

_Carlos has no fucking clue when he got so good at lying to himself._

_It doesn't go like that._

_Every time a commercial break comes and Carlos gears himself up, Logan starts cracking jokes about something in the last scene that reminded him of that one time, remember, Litos? when they were at that place with those people and that thing happened. And Logan's laughing like he never laughs, free and open and it carries all the way to his eyes, and it's gorgeous and fucking contagious, and Carlos is laughing too, because he can't not._

_An hour into Friday the 13th, Logan's grown too lazy to sit up on his own and is leaning back against Carlos's chest, all bony angles and long fingers curled around Carlos's knees, and every time he laughs Carlos feels it in his whole body. He shifts his head when he talks sometimes, his hair brushing Carlos's cheek, smelling fresh and Logany like it has every day for ten years, and when he gets too tired to gesture anymore, he grabs hold of Carlos's hands and tucks them into his lap, covering them with his own._

_Justifiably, Carlos is maybe a little screwed._

_Because he's sixteen, okay, and his hand's in Logan's lap and it's totally not his fault he can't stop it from shifting half an inch until he's cupping Logan through his jeans. Logan's breath hitches on cue like he was waiting for it; he's pressing himself back harder against Carlos's front before his hand stretches out and clenches around the remote. The TV audio vanishes to the barely-there hum of life, rapid screen images flashing light across the otherwise dark room. Logan squirms until he's turned around, straddling Carlos, and when their mouths meet, all Carlos can think is how badly he doesn't want this to be the last time._

_He lifts Logan off his hips and flips him over after awhile, crawling down his body and taking clothes with him as he goes. After six months, he's not above letting his ego out, because he knows he's gotten good at this, learned all the little quirks, the swirls of his tongue, just the right pull of his lips that will have Logan begging, coming apart in his mouth._

_But Logan grabs at him and pulls him back up this time, says simply, "Stay close," and kisses him through it as they bring each other off with their hands. In the end it's better, just like the first time, awkwardly rutting up against each other, sloppy kisses that don't match the rhythm, all the little noises swallowed down each other's throats before they even hit the air._

_Carlos absolutely, one hundred percent does not give himself permission to say "I love you" as he watches Logan come, but somehow the words are out there, defiant and betraying._

_Logan says it back, doesn't miss a beat or even flinch, like it's normal, like they say it all the time, but they don't, not like this. They're not in love and they're not girls and. And Carlos is completely sure at least one of those is true._

_Logan doesn't let go when it's over, and for the first time, he doesn't put his clothes back on, either. They lie face to face, watching each other like they're waiting for something to happen, and every few seconds Logan will lean in and kiss him, long and slow and prodding, almost like he knows._

_Carlos tries to channel that part of his brain that's started blurting things out unexpectedly, and as Logan leans in for the thousandth time, he says, "I asked out Haley."_

_Logan stops where he is, an inch from Carlos's mouth, and pulls back, settling his head gingerly on the pillow. "I. Oh."_

_And no - no, he does notget to do this, because - "You - you told me to." Carlos's forehead crinkles. "You said I should - that - "_

_"No, no, yeah, I - yeah." Logan looks as though a million things are happening to his brain, blinking a couple times like he's not sure where he is, as if he were living in one movie and suddenly got transported to another and he's trying to get his bearings. "Um, so what'd she say?"_

_"I." Carlos swallows. "She said yes."_

_Logan just stares, and he knows Logan's trying to have a second conversation with him behind the words, with just their eyes, the way they always do, but Carlos closes himself off. If Logan has something to say, he's going to have to fucking say it._

_He finally cracks a smile, a weak one, and says, "That's great, man. That's awesome, good for you. She's totally hot."_

_Carlos nods, numbly. "Yeah. And she's smart."_

_"Yeah, right? And she seems really nice, too."_

_But she's not you, Carlos's head screams._

_He says, "Yeah. She is."_

_Logan lets go of him, sits up, pretending to look for his shirt. He asks, "So when are you going out?" without looking up._

_"Next Friday."_

_"Cool."_

_"Logan."_

_But Logan can be brave even when he doesn't feel it, and he meets Carlos's eyes. "Los, it's cool." He smiles again, and it's marginally more real. "I mean. I'll miss - y'know. But." He looks down at the shirt in his hands, and Carlos tries so fucking hard not to let his eyes trail over Logan's torso, the long planes of velvet-soft skin that, with a handful of words strewn together in the right order, are no longer his to touch. "It's cool," Logan repeats. "No, yeah, it's good."_

_Carlos may be a great liar, but Logan's shit._

_He opens his mouth to say I don't have to do this, when Logan reaches across the bed and tosses Carlos's shirt at him._

_"Get dressed before your mom finds us," he smirks._

_Two weeks later Logan starts dating an overly made-up girl from his Chemistry class and Carlos tries to force himself to believe she's making Logan happy. She isn't, and a year later the whole world will know it._

_Logan indulges her, smiling at her stupid jokes, but it never reaches his eyes. Every time, Carlos's mind rewinds to that Friday night, with Logan's laughter shaking against him, and little by little, Carlos's world stops making sense._

_xxxxx_

"Logan. Logan."

Logan just shakes his head. "No, I saw it, there was - it was here."

He looks so helpless, so betrayed, lifting a hand to brush aside a clump of leaves, the muscles in his forehead knit tight as he turns back to Kendall.

"It was the same color as Carlos's shirt," he insists, his hand falling to his side, defeated and limp.

Kendall swallows. "I - I don't think he was wearing a shirt."

Logan doesn't say anything as they switch directions, but when Kendall's hand slips into his, he grips tight until their knuckles are matching white.

"Carlos... Litos. Los. Hey."

His eyes are still shut but he can feel the blinding light against his eyelids, and he's scared to open them. But he's never been good at denying James much of anything, and James's voice is so warm, and Carlos wonders idly when voices acquired temperature, but he figures if anyone's voice could, it would be James. James is magic.

The light is brighter than anything ever, but it doesn't make his eyes ache the way he'd thought. It's blinding but soothing, sending warm chills all down his body. Warm chills? That's awesome. Awesome, but nothing next to the far-off sound of music streaming into his ears.

Music.

It pains Carlos to think how foreign it sounds, how long they've been without real music, with only the out-of-tune guitar with five barely working strings - but none of it matters now; it's over.

The music sounds crackly and broken, a record player maybe, off in another room. The sounds are jumbled and inconsistent, a hodge-podge of all the music Carlos has ever heard in his life. There's their own, straining above all the others, and scrapped songs Carlos hasn't heard in almost two years, but they're clear as day, studio versions that never existed. Somewhere infused in it all is Kendall's laughter, wide and open, and Logan's answering chuckle, subdued but genuine, content.

Somewhere, Carlos thinks he hears his name.

It still takes him a minute to focus, and when he does, it's on James's smile, brighter even than the whole room, and Carlos thinks maybe it's the reason the room is so bright.

James crouches down beside him, hair brushed softly to one side, his white v-neck smelling of the laundry detergent he always steals from Carlos. For some reason it always seems to smell better on James's clothes.

His crisp, faded black jeans brush against Carlos's hand as it reaches out to pull James forward. He's surprised at his own strength, hand closing firm around James's forearm. Part of him idly wonders how the dull, stale ache of all-over bruises seems to have evaporated from his body, and how James is impossibly warm under his hand, pulsing with life.

"You came back," Carlos says, and James smiles crookedly.

"I never left," he tells him. "I'll never leave you, Los."

"Promise?"

James's smile widens. "I already promised, remember? Till death do us part?"

"Are we dead?"

James leans in, his lips brushing Carlos's so light it almost tickles. "We're home."

Carlos wakes up when the music stops.

At first he thinks maybe the music hasn't stopped; maybe he just can't hear.

But then it's back, the footsteps above, the dusty spray of dirt that sprinkles from the roof of the cell as they move above him, free.

There are voices, but they're unknown, senseless, words that aren't words at all, but still familiar for their unfamiliarity.

He listens for Kendall's laughter, for Logan's low, quiet tones, for James's smile. He remembers being able to hear James's smile. He can't hear anything now.

It hurts to open his eyes; they feel weak and achy and they sting, like he hasn't had enough sleep, but it's all he's been doing.

The room's dark again, damp and smelling of uneaten food, the window up top smaller than ever. Carlos hurts in new places, places he didn't know he could hurt, all the aches renewed and throbbing, and James isn't here.

Logan's walking, steady and consistent, his breathing regular, face relaxed as he pushes past the underbrush, the thick leaves and hanging branches of the rainforest, hands calm and strong as they work.

Kendall touches a hand to his hip to get him to wait as Kendall crouches down, rifling through their knapsack for a bottle of water. They haven't run across fresh water all day and he takes careful, measured sips before moving to hand the bottle to Logan.

When he looks up, Logan's braced himself with both hands on the trunk of a tree, fingers gripping tight at nothing, nails digging in as his forehead inclines to rest against the textured bark. Kendall doesn't have to touch him to know he's shaking, but he touches him anyway because his fingers have always been wired to seek Logan out, like a magnet, like air.

Logan shakes harder under his touch like he's literally falling apart, but Kendall only holds him tighter, not trying to turn him around, but waiting for Logan to come to him. When Logan does, he's stiff and his face is wet against Kendall's neck, but he's not making any noise.

"I promise," Kendall says. "I swear to god, Logan. I promise."

"You can't. So don't."

Kendall watches him pull back enough that their eyes meet, Logan's bright and wet, the skin red around the edges. His hands are clamped around Kendall's upper arms to hold himself still and upright because he's sinking a bit, into the ground, into Kendall, having to force himself to stand up because his body doesn't care to anymore. Kendall's hands are firm on Logan's hips. Logan could let go and Kendall would hold him up, every time, metaphors and all.

Logan says, "Make it stop," and Kendall kisses him.

"Did I ever tell you how fucking hot you look in pink?"

Carlos opens his eyes to see Kendall smiling down at him. Carlos looks down to find himself in a tight pink t-shirt he hasn't worn in about two years, but Kendall doesn't give him much time to make sense of it, simply plopping down next to Carlos, legs folded underneath him, and grins deviously.

"Makes me wanna dress you up in Victoria's Secret." He waggles his eyebrows, comical, exaggerated.

"How did you get here?"

Kendall's face falls. "You asked me to come."

Carlos tries to look around, get his bearings, but everything outside of Kendall's immediate vicinity is blurred, like the background of a photograph. It feels flowery, whatever it is behind the blur, bright but not overbright, with soothing pastel colors and sunlight from everywhere. He thinks he smells tea, maybe, or coffee, and something sweet. Syrup. Someone's cooking pancakes. No, waffles. Fucking Belgian waffles, Jesus Christ.

There's music again, classical piano, Moonlight Sonata. For the first time since it happened, he remembers Kendall playing it for them the first time he was invited to one of the Non-Negotiable Weekly LoganandCarlos Sleepovers. Carlos remembers the way Logan had watched Kendall from across the room, the dazed, enraptured look on his face, and he'd known then, if he hadn't already lost Logan, he'd eventually have lost him to Kendall.

"Stop thinking so hard," Kendall says gently, a fond smile at his lips. He reaches up to move a strand of hair off Carlos's face, and his hands feel so fucking good that Carlos reaches for one of them, squeezes tight, uses his other hand to press on Kendall's fingers until they curl around him.

"Where's Logan?"

Kendall blinks, scooting down until he's lying on his side, facing him. "He's still yours, Los."

"And you?"

Kendall smiles. "I'm yours too."

Kendall leans in and the motion's too smooth, his lips too pillowy and perfect to be real, but Carlos melts into it, lets Kendall take over, pushing himself up until he's leaning over him, hooking one leg over both of Carlos's until Carlos can feel his hips pressing down, grinding soft and tentative. Kendall's tongue feels like music and tastes like smiles, and Carlos knows, this time, he really must've died.

He breaks away to say, "I'd save your life every time."

Kendall's lips stretch into a grin against his. "You always do."

Carlos wakes up in the dark, alone.

He feels his way over to the tray of food and peels a mango in the pitch black of the room. His jaw is so unused to the exertion that the movement aches, causes his eyes sting and tear up as he chews.

He's not crying.

He's not.

xxxx

It's a complete fluke. They don't find evidence, there's no trail, nothing recognizable for them to follow, especially now, in near-dark. It's just. There.

"Kendall."

"I know."

"Kendall. I. People. They're."

"I know."

Their words are choked, only coming out on sharp exhales, and Kendall answers automatically because part of him thinks he's hallucinating. A large part. The biggest part, even.

He has to hold Logan tight, both hands pressing hard enough to bruise, because Logan's limp and motionless but tense as a presidential debate, like a cat getting a bath, still but ready to bolt, and right now he wouldn't put it past Logan to tear through the trees, down the slope, arms flailing over his head as he marches into the camp demanding to know what they've done with his Carlos and James and to kindly give them back.

Logan jerks his head to meet Kendall's eyes. "What do we do?"

Kendall doesn't even know what to fucking make of it, because this isn't Logan; Logan's always the one to nod thoughtfully as the gears work in his mind and then announce the game plan to the others, accepting ideas but more than likely to disregard them. He rarely asks for input, trusting them all well enough to come forth with it themselves if they have anything worthy, and he never asks for advice. Ever.

It was always a lot of false self-assuredness, Kendall knows, but he thinks now maybe the reason Logan was able to fake it at all, put forth the front that said I'm confident and trust the appearance of it to carry him through, is because Carlos was behind him, every time, ready to catch him if he fell.

Kendall's not good at this. He replies honestly, "I don't know."

"Do you - do you think they're..."

"Logan, they could - I don't - "

"They're people," Logan insists, with a desperation and idealism that is so un-Logan that Kendall knows he has every reason to panic.

"Dude, I. They could be people who fucking kill other people who come into their camp! We can't just, run down there and - Litos and James might not even be here."

"They're here."

"Logan, we don't - "

"They're here."

Kendall says, tomorrow, says they'll use the night to think, but Logan still can't breathe, and Kendall can't think.

They back up half a mile and set up camp under a patch of trees that leaves a spot of sky open above them. Kendall tries to distract him with more ridiculous constellations until Logan sheds their clothes and pulls Kendall down on top of him, kissing him until he can breathe again, and comes all over their fingers.

xxxxx

"Since when am I awake before you, loser?"

Carlos doesn't hesitate to open his eyes. At the same time, he knows hearing Logan's voice would be enough.

But seeing him is...

"Hey, sexy," Logan winks. It's been awhile since Carlos's seen Logan turn that kind of look on him. It makes his stomach jump just as high as it did six years ago. It's nothing to do with the oldschool skinny jeans or the v-neck hugging his frame - not that he minds any of that. It's just Logan.

Carlos sighs and turns away. He wishes the music would stop, the echoes of his own drum lines fusing with Logan's soft, deliberate guitar in sync like puzzle pieces, incomplete without the other. He says, "You're not here."

Logan places a hand on Carlos's chest, his fingers so long they nearly spread across the entire width, and waits for Carlos to look at him. He knows him well enough to know Carlos will, eventually.

When he does, Logan smiles a smile that could singlehandedly establish world peace.

"I've always been here," Logan whispers.

"You left."

"I didn't leave."

"You let me go."

Carlos turns away again, jerking his hand from Logan's.

"I. Haley was - I - Litos, I did what I thought was best."

Carlos jerks around, eyes flashing. "Best for who? The band? You didn't want half the members to be fucking? Thought it might be bad press? What was the fucking point of the band, Logan, if we couldn't be together the way we both wanted?"

"Los, the band was to keep us together! I - why do you think I joined the band?! I did it to keep you, so we'd get famous and and I wouldn't have to worry about you ever leaving me because we'd have something meaningful, something you'd think was worth staying for!"

Carlos sits up, eye level with Logan's, a splotchy wet trail of tears snaking down his cheek.

"You idiot," he whispers. "We've always had something meaningful."

And because Logan is a total girl, his face only scrunches up harder, more tears spilling, but Carlos holds him close, hands firm on Logan's shoulders, pressing their foreheads together.

"Logan... you're what's worth staying for."

Logan whispers, "I love you." The puff of breath is hot on Carlos's face, smells like caramel coffee and roses, sounds like pain and relief and feels like flying.

"I love you too."

Logan's lips are everything he remembers. His body beneath Carlos's as they fall back to the floor is the same: the same angles, the same weight, the same planes and curves and perfection. He makes the same noises, tastes the same, grips Carlos's hair the same as Carlos dips his head to take Logan into his mouth.

What's different is when Carlos feels a hand on his back that isn't Logan's. He looks up into Kendall's face beside them, to James behind Kendall, pressing kisses into the warm, pale curve of Kendall's neck. Kendall smiles, leans down to kiss Logan, then Carlos, then turns to catch James's mouth.

When James looks up, he says, "We're home."

This time it makes sense.

Carlos wakes up already crying.

He can't swipe at his eyes because he knows his face is covered in dirt, and it'll smear and make his eyes sting worse. So they flow, hard and cold as they splash over his face and his knees folded underneath him. The room's getting dark, early evening, a dying splash of sun peeking through the hole in the dirt wall.

He screams into the stale air but it only serves to make his nerves tighter, his body tenser.

Out of the corner of his eye he spots the trays of food still untouched from this morning, and before he can think too hard about it, he's crawling across the dirt floor and grabbing at the first item he can reach, stuffing it into his mouth and chewing fast, swallowing hard, and again: chew, swallow, repeat. He doesn't stop for air, and his stomach is protesting, unused to the attention but he doesn't care.

If they want him dead, bring it the fuck on.

"Los. Carlos..."

"Go the fuck away and leave me alone!"

"...I."

"GO! You're not REAL! Stop doing this to me!"

His stomach lurches, and it turns out eating too much is just as bad as not eating at all.

"Carlos. Dude, hey."

"No."

He hears James sigh, but refuses to open his eyes. He tries to close off his ears, too, because it seems like in this universe that's possible. He doesn't want to hear the music anymore, or see their stupid glowing faces or feel their imaginary bodies against his, he doesn't. He doesn't hear it yet, but he knows it's coming.

"Okay," James says quietly, as if to himself. "Okay. Jesus. Shit. Okay."

Carlos feels him lie down, press himself carefully to Carlos's back, tense and tentative, and wraps an arm around his middle. Carlos wants to jerk away, force himself to wake up, but the sensations are holding him back. He starts to notice James doesn't smell like shampoo or laundry detergent; he's not wearing a t-shirt; in fact, he's wearing nothing but the boxers he had on when they got here. Here. Together. Four days ago. Here. James.

"...James?"

"Shh, I'm here."

"James."

Carlos rolls around so fast he's practically on top of James, his elbows flailing and almost whacking James in the face, but James is quick and manages to duck out of the line of fire. It's dark but Carlos can see the streaks of dirt across his face, matted in his unwashed hair as Carlos tangles his fingers in it, holding James close, and holy fucking shit, James, it's James.

"James - James. Are you - you're - "

"I'm okay. Carlos, Jesus, what - I'm here. I'm back."

"OhmyfuckinggodJames," Carlos gasps, yanking James forward until their bodies are flush, legs tangling automatically. James lets him pull his head forward to bury it in the crook of Carlos's neck, and his arms curl around him, strong and assured and tight and real. "James I thought you were dead they took you and you were gone and you didn't come back and I started seeing things and you told me we were home and Kendall was here and he kissed me and Logan told me he loved me, James, James - "

"Hey. Hey, hey. Come here." James pulls them both half up, scrunched together against one dirt wall, and shifts until it's reversed, Carlos's face in his hands, and he holds him steady. "I'm here. Okay? It's okay. It's gonna be okay. I'm not gonna let them take me again."

"What did - what - what were they - "

"I - I don't know, honestly." James sits back a bit, resting his hands on Carlos's knees. "They took me to... I dunno, like, their chief or something? And they were talking, y'know, I don't - and he tried to talk to me. But. I just. I didn't say anything. So they just put me in another cell with more food and had someone come, like, every few hours to... whatever. But - "

"Not whatever, what the fuck is 'whatever'?"

"Litos, it's nothing, it's over - "

"They hurt you."

"Los."

"I'll kill them."

"Look at me." He tries to hold Carlos in place, tries to keep his eyes focused on James. "It's over. Okay? I'm back and we're gonna figure out a plan to get out of here and then we're gonna get out of here and you can kiss Kendall and tell Logan you love him, okay?"

Carlos blinks at him, but doesn't pull away. "Don't make promises."

"I'll make promises if I fucking want to."

"You can't. So don't."

James tries to stare him down, but it's Carlos.

Carlos relaxes a bit as James's thumbs start to stroke the sides of his face, but he doesn't falter. "Are we going to die?"

James doesn't try to say no, and Carlos's grateful. Instead he says, "Are you afraid?"

"Didn't answer my question."

"You don't want me to make promises I can't make; don't ask me questions I can't answer."

Carlos sighs, letting James pull him close. "I'm scared. Not for us. For Logan and Ken."

"I know, baby," James whispers. "I know."

They're silent for a long time, melted into one another, listening to heartbeats, listening for them, making sure they're still there every few seconds. The room smells rancid, over-warm and humid, but Carlos's in James's arms and he doesn't notice.

"Hey," James says, nudging him lightly, and there's a teasing lilt to his voice. "You remember that interview, where like, god, I don't even know what they asked us, but I said if we were stranded on a deserted island - "

"- You'd eat me first 'cause I'm the most active so my meat would still be tender?"

He looks up and James is smiling, and his own mouth responds instinctively, grinning back. James's eyes are warm and sparkly behind all the mess, and Carlos hasn't seen him smile like this in what feels like forever.

Carlos feels the words tumbling out before he can stop them. "I love you."

James blinks, slow, like he's soaking it in, committing it to memory. "I love you too."

"I'm not afraid to die," Carlos says.

"Los, we're - "

"I just - " Carlos swallows. "I just. Don't want to die... without... doing this."

He ducks his head and presses forward quick, awkward and juvenile like the first time he ever kissed Logan without Logan making a move first. Luckily his aim's okay and his lips land mostly on James's, but James takes them the rest of the way, angling his head and curling a hand instantly around the back of Carlos's neck to urge him closer, his other resting on Carlos's waist. Both of Carlos's hands are still on James's shoulders and he doesn't know where to put them, so he just clamps down and pulls forward and James gets the hint, inching until they're as close as they can get and not stop kissing.

It's messy and they're covered in dirt and taste like too much stale food, but it's one of the most exhilarating moments of Carlos's life and he realizes he wasn't lying, he's not afraid to die, not for himself at least. Not anymore. Not after this.

"I think it could work."

Carlos presses a bit closer to James's side, his hand balling against James's chest. He feels James shift until his chin is hooked over the top of Carlos's head and he drops a kiss to it.

"It will," Carlos tells him. "It's good, we're good, we can do this."

"If. Los, listen to me. If anything goes wrong, and I - if they've got me and you have a chance to run, you have to promise me you'll run."

Carlos is silent.

"Los, don't fuck with me."

"I can't leave you."

"No, you will leave me and you'll go find Logan and Ken and you'll know where I am so you can come back. Promise me or we're not doing this."

Carlos is still silent, but James must know him well enough now to trust it's coming.

"I promise."

They don't manage to sleep at all, and it's probably not the best plan considering what's set to happen in the morning, but James can't seem to close his eyes and Carlos's heart can't seem to stop pounding and neither of them can seem to stop kissing each other.

They finish off the food around four a.m., their strength renewed as much as they can muster.

When the first light shines through the window at the top and the first round of footsteps begins to approach, Carlos sprawls out on the ground and closes his eyes and James starts yelling like a fucking banshee.

It's chaos when the guards enter, with James yelling at them and Carlos motionless, eyes shut no matter how desperately he wants to open them. He can hear them yelling back, trying to decipher James's words, There's something wrong with him, he won't wake up, and as he feels them start to approach him, his body begins to panic, knowing he can only fake it for so long.

But suddenly there's a thump and a thwack and grunting and screaming and Carlos can't tell whose it is whose or what is what's until he hears, clear through the chaos, "Carlos, run, NOW!"

He pauses.

Logan and Kendall wake up to noise that isn't insects, isn't the soft lull of waves against the shore like they're used to, like they love, like they crave and miss like nothing else.

They wake up to footsteps, the sound of two men speaking in a language they don't know, and a third speaking with them. The third's voice grows louder, desperate, until he's screaming and then there's noises that neither of them recognize, and something falls to the ground.

The screams stop, and the footsteps fade into nothing.

Logan's up so fast to his feet he almost falls over, and Kendall follows, closing a hand around Logan's wrist as much for his own security as Logan's.

"Ken."

Logan's voice is so wrecked, his pulse racing hard enough under Kendall's thumb that Kendall's worried he's about to work himself into a heart attack.

"Logan, it's okay, we just - "

"Ken, we have to go. They're gonna - they just. That man. They."

"I know. I know. I know. Just stay with me, okay - "

"Ken, we have to go, they're gonna kill us - "

"Logan, I'd rather die with James and Carlos than live without them!"

Logan freezes, their eyes locked, and just that, Kendall saying the words, like James and Carlos are already gone, Logan feels like he's not quite alive himself.

Before he can formulate a freak-out, another round of footsteps returns, harsher and quicker and fast approaching, and their heads jerk helplessly toward the sound.


	16. Chapter 16

"It's_ all in how flexible your tongue is, really."_

_Logan stops, one foot inside the front lounge and the other in the bunk hallway. He really needs to stop walking in on the middle of conversations (dear Jesus, please let this only be a conversation)._

_"But I keep getting it caught on the tip, like - "_

_Kendall. Oh Kendall. This has instantly descended from questionable to don't-want-to-question-ever._

_When Logan reluctantly drags his limbs all the way into the lounge, it's really not so bad. James is turned sideways on the sofa toward Kendall, and Kendall's got his brow knit in concentration as he works his jaw, like he's chewing gum but not quite. After a few moments he opens his mouth and extracts a mutilated Starburst, wrapper largely intact._

_And here Logan had thought he'd finished junior high years ago._

_James smiles indulgently at Kendall. "Okay, one more time. Watch." He grabs a fresh Starburst from a pile in his lap, sticks it in his mouth, and keeps his mouth half-ajar as he works it open, Kendall staring enraptured at the sight. Logan turns to Carlos for some kind of support, but Carlos's eyes are glazed over as he watches the scene unfold._

_Jesus, his band, seriously._

_Logan plops down beside Carlos a little more forcefully than necessary to make his presence known, but Carlos just huffs his annoyance at the distraction and moves to make room for him. Resigned, Logan sighs and turns back to the shenanigans, just as James is making one last flick of his tongue and - huh, okay, kind of really hot, maybe - before closing his mouth completely. He smirks, holds two fingers to his lips, and pulls out a flattened pink wrapper._

_Carlos kind of gasps (the fuck, Los?) and Kendall just beams. Clearly, this must be why James was accepted back so wholeheartedly._

_"Nice," Logan has to admit._

_James winks at him. "Wanna try one more, Ken?"_

_"Fuck yes." Never one to give up on anything, Kendall snatches up a red cube and pops it into his mouth. He doesn't fail to catch Logan's eye, and as he does, Logan can tell Kendall's entire set of motives has shifted. This is now, officially, a performance._

_He's slower with it this time, his jaw more relaxed but deliberate, and when his eyes drift shut in concentration, Logan absolutely doesn't swallow any harder than usual._

_Carlos seems to think he does though, because he looks at him sideways. Like he could tell. Whatever. Carlos sucks._

_A few more moments and Kendall opens his eyes, wide and surprised, and Logan starts to worry maybe he's swallowed it by accident and is choking and oh, Jesus, like this tour hasn't had enough emergency room visits already (thank you very much, broken venue door). But his lips quirk into a grin and he opens his mouth, pulling out a perfectly intact red wrapper and holding it up for all to worship._

_"YES!" James laughs, pumping the air with a fist. "Awesome, dude."_

_"You guys are ridiculous," Logan decides, hopping off the couch and heading back toward the bunks before his smile starts forcing itself through any more insistently._

_Kendall's voice carries after him, low and controlled. "Bet you can't do it, Mitchell."_

_Logan backs up slowly, turning and poking his head into the lounge. "I don't need to prove anything to you, Kendall."_

_"Heh. Can't do it, huh?"_

_"Oh my god," Logan sighs, marching over to them and plucking a yellow Starburst off James's lap, shoving it into his mouth and trying to figure what the hell he's gotten himself into. Because, okay, these things are seriously like, glued to the fucking candy, what the hell? How do you even - he tries to work it a little further back towards his throat, freeing up some more of his tongue, but the effort only succeeds in making him choke, spluttering until he spits the cube out into his hand._

_Kendall and James crack up, and Carlos's not above a lip-biting grin, but he softens it with a sympathetic hand on Logan's knee._

_"Nice, dude," Kendall offers._

_"Fuck off!"_

_"Glad I've never let you suck me off."_

_"Let me?!"_

_"Hey now," Carlos interjects. "I'm sure Logan's dick-sucking skills are more than adequate."_

_Kendall raises an eyebrow. "How would you know?"_

_Logan's trying to think of a quick way to invisibly pinch or kick Carlos, but James simply grins at Logan and s ays, "There's one way to find out."_

_Logan is shocked to find himself grinning back, if for no other reason than the fact that it's James, and somehow James can say or do things no one else could, and get away with it. There's a certain honesty in his manner; an openness, no ulterior motives deceptively airbrushed over with false pretenses. He's fair and rational with an even temper and an uncompromising devotion to these three boys, equal and unconditional - and if the band had needed anything, that was it._

_In that moment, Logan realizes it wasn't the contract that made James permanent._

xxxx

Logan's hand clenches Kendall's so tight it's almost like he's trying to squeeze the fear out of their bodies, but he doesn't sustain the effort for long.

It's a strange overlap of emotions that Kendall finds himself caught between - the paralysis of fear tinged with the sinking knowledge that it's too fucking late, that this is the end, and the feeling is so strong it lingers in his consciousness even as the figure begins pushing through the trees, even as Logan makes a strangled, inhuman sort of yelp and lunges forward, even as Kendall recognizes the face moving toward them.

It's Kendall's first real experience with genuine chaos in a long time, but this isn't the chaos of the plane crash, or of watching Logan disappear over the edge of the cliff. It's a warm, explosive chaos, relief fused with shock and disbelief of the most delicious sort.

Carlos has got Logan in his arms the second Logan's tiny, wiry frame collides with him, Logan's legs hooked tight around his waist, face buried in Carlos's neck, an instant, matching build-up of tears streaming down their faces. Spluttered, babbling words, apologies and confessions and pleas and promises spill from their lips, some Kendall can make out, but mostly nonsense, LoganandCarlos secrets that he's come to trust more than understand.

The sight's nothing he's ever seen from two relatively collected individuals who never need more than a smile or the raise of an eyebrow to communicate: the way their bodies lock into each other like they've been programmed for it, the way their hysteria melts into a whispered mess of choked sobs and a motionless embrace. Still, through it all, Kendall's mind is running on a broken-record chant of James, James, James, but even that falters momentarily when Carlos and Logan slip back into chaos as their lips find each other. Kendall doesn't know much of what happened years ago in Carlos's tiny twin bed, but their actions now are so open and vulnerable he thinks it looks like they're picking up where they left off, with an extra six years' worth of lost time to compensate.

He figures it would take an awful lot to tear his eyes from the sight, but that's before James bursts through into the clearing, his eyes flashing and wild and frantic before settling on Kendall.

When their bodies collide, Kendall has a distant, half-formed hope that Logan and Carlos didn't crash into each other this hard because Logan might've broken something, but there's not an ounce of his body that can complain as James pulls him into his arms so tight it's pretty clear he's not intending on letting him move an inch for a least a couple months.

Kendall's so beyond okay with that.

It never registers with him that he's shaking, that he's crying, until he watches his own tears disappear down James's bare back, loosening the layer of dried dirt; till he feels James's arms tighten, his voice a soothing whisper in Kendall's ears before he finally processes the words, seconds late but no less heartstopping.

"I've never felt anything so good as you in my arms right now."

He feels a sob-laugh-choke try to fight its way from his chest but they're holding each other so tight it doesn't really make its way out. His fingers are starting to ache from how hard they're digging into James's sides, and he thinks it's too soon when they pull apart, but seeing James's face is compensation enough.

"Love you," Kendall whispers.

James squeezes his hands and smiles, releasing one hand to reach up and swipe a tear from Kendall's cheek. "Love you too."

Unmistakable noises interrupt from behind them and their eyes shift in unison to take in Logan and Carlos, still joined at the hip and just about every other body part visible to the naked eye. Logan's still got his legs around Carlos's waist but Carlos has got him backed up against a tree now, one broad hand cupped gently around the back of Logan's head. Both of Logan's arms are looped around Carlos's back, fingers splayed and pushing tight, keeping their bodies pressed together. Their kissing is frantic, desperate, loud and uncoordinated and uninhibited, like nothing anyone's ever seen them share, but Kendall's first thought is, oddly, how it's not explicitly sexual; it's intimate, maybe beyond anything he's seen, but it's more love, affection, need, than anything based on arousal.

"Uh." Kendall follows the sound to find James ducking his head and scratching the back of his neck, a tiny grin on his lips and a quick jerk of his head toward Logan and Carlos, before he raises his eyes shyly to Kendall's. "'S'okay, we don't have to, uh..."

Kendall saves him the embarrassment of having to finish the sentence by leaning in and pressing his lips to James's.

It's simple, easy, closed-mouth and closer to his first kiss ever than it should be, which is both ridiculous and awesome, and the only thing making it wet is the last tumble of tears down their cheeks.

When he pulls away, James has got his hands on Kendall's hips and his eyes are glowing, his smile wide and bright for a perfect half-second until his face falls and something in his eyes snaps, hardens; a return to awareness.

"I - we have to. Fuck. We've gotta go. Shit. Los - Los."

The same snap back into senses seems to hit Carlos, like he and James are now wired to the same reactions, and he jerks his head around suddenly, gently setting Logan down. He turns toward James but his eyes stop at Kendall and Logan's stop at James and everything suddenly shifts, synchronized, almost as if it's been choreographed: Logan and James start for one another and meet in the middle, Kendall and Carlos follow suit, and suddenly Carlos is in front of him, being more Carlos in every conceivable way that Kendall's not sure how he's still standing up. He seems taller, his eyes browner, his smile brighter, and his arms stronger as his hands slide up to close around Kendall's arms, Kendall's hands cupping Carlos's elbows to lock them in place. Some part of his subconcious processes the distant image of Logan and James locked in a bone-crushing hug, but all he really sees is Carlos, looking at him like he's seeing Kendall for the first time, and at the same time like he's been watching him nonstop for years and finally figured it out.

Carlos's mouth opens and closes, his eyes welling up and dropping down to Kendall's mouth and back to his eyes, and all Kendall wants to do is press forward those last few inches and have done with it, but Carlos's mouth finally opens a final time, and this time it's with purpose.

There's a sheepish smirk on his lips as he confesses, "Sorry I, uh, was kinda all over your boyfriend."

Kendall smiles so big it feels foreign to his face, overly stretched and fantastic. There's so much he could say, ranging from snark to assurance and everything in between, but James's voice is calling.

"Guys, now, seriously, come on!"

Carlos's hands squeeze his biceps a little tighter, and he blinks, some of the straining tears skidding down his cheeks. "We gotta go."

"Yeah."

Kendall's legs protest under the sudden exertion as they all set off, running rampant and rough through the forest, all the equipment of camp left behind, their food, clothing, shelter and weapons.

Panic starts to swell inside him, hindering his speed and focus, and he tries to remember the way it feels right before walking onstage, that moment when he has to shove everything else aside and convince five thousand faces that he can do anything.

His mind supplies memories of a long forgotten Bible story, warning of the consequences of looking back. It's a little weird, he thinks, how it's taken this long for religion to bring him any benefit.

He keeps his eyes in front of him and his hand in Carlos's and thinks, This, this is what I believe.

It's so much easier not to think, James fast realizes, when you've got these three boys in front of you, making it impossible for your attention to be anywhere else in the world.

He hasn't said much, and Carlos knows not to prod. Logan takes his cues from Carlos, and Kendall reads James the way Logan reads Carlos, so it shakes out, works out, in the end. Like a strange, shifting, four-sided circle.

...Okay, James is really, really tired.

They don't stop moving until it was too dark to see in front of them, and they don't make a fire because the smoke would betray them. It's their first night without one and James is trying to at least give the impression he knows where they are, but he's only half sure they're anywhere near the path he and Carlos took on the way in.

He broke open coconuts with his knife he stole back from the guard and they took turns downing the milk that didn't splatter out as the shells shattered. It's not water, but it's something. James's trying not to think about water, or the fact that aside from the waterfall, he has no idea where any is.

But it's easier not to think, with these three boys in front of him.

It's strange, having Kendall's eyes on him like this in the dark, not sparkling under the flicker of dying flames. They're questioning, but gently, without pressure; more like a reminder to James that, when he's ready to talk, Kendall's ready to listen.

He's not used to talking to Kendall without words. It's Kendall.

He's not used to seeing Carlos and Logan like this, either. Side by side, their bodies pressed together from ankles to foreheads, hands intertwined, tucked and folded between their chests. They aren't speaking, aren't doing anything, not even speaking with their eyes because their eyes are closed - but to James it looks like they're having a conversation, or whatever some supernatural equivalent of conversation would be. Telepathy. Maybe that. Or maybe, he smiles at the thought, they're kinda like batteries that need each other to recharge. (Seriously, so tired.) Either way, they look complete. They look how he feels.

He wonders if it's exhaustion convincing him his world is complete, now, here, dead center in chaos and uncertainty.

Then he realizes, in one of those sleep-deprived epiphanies made famous by Jett, that that's maybe what real peace is. Calm inside calamity.

Logan and Carlos both keep reaching back intermittently to feel around for him and Kendall, to try and pull them down beside them or just remind themselves that they're there, but Kendall knows they need to be LoganandCarlos just now, and James is content where he is, sustained by just enough contact to keep breathing, one hand resting in the little dip where Carlos and Logan's heads meet, softly stroking hair not knowing whose is whose; and the other held snug in Kendall's fingers.

Kendall snuggles up to James's chest and says, "I love you."

It's all he's said since morning.

Everyone says it back, every time.

"Go on, say it."

Kendall looks up from his skeletal remains of dinner because clearly he's missed something here. Logan's words resound soft across the fire but he's got that way of saying something in the most even, unassuming tone that somehow carries a force that transcends volume. His and Carlos's eyes are locked, and Kendall wonders for how long; if they've spent all of dinner in silent conversation and Kendall's just been too obsessed with food, finally, food and the warm, comforting return to camp at long last, that he'd failed to notice.

James stares down at his hands, turning them palm-up and interlocking his fingers with a determined resolution. "We have to leave."

Kendall snorts, picking the last bits of fish off the bone. "Yeah, I'll get right on that. The hell does it take to get a cab around here?"

James says quietly, "Kendall."

"What?"

Carlos sighs. "Okay, so like. There's people here who want to roast us. Literally."

Leave it to Carlos to cut through anything - silence, bullshit, tension, and everything in between.

Kendall shrugs a little awkwardly, sensing the direction this is taking. "They're not... here."

"They could follow us," James points out gently, and Kendall does him the courtesy of raising his eyes only because James's barely spoken since they've returned. "And obviously, all the fruit trees must be theirs, so it's not like we can still - "

"We can live without fruit."

"Yeah but we can't live with a hundred fucking cannibals on our ass, Kendall," Carlos snaps.

"Um, last I checked we were alone?"

"Yeah, for now! Who knows what - "

"Okay," Logan interjects softly. "So. What, it's not exactly like we can build a boat."

Kendall spares him a grateful glance, but Logan's eyes are still locked on Carlos, having a separate conversation beneath it all. It seems like they're finally finished, because Logan looks quickly to Kendall like an apology, and down at his hands, as Carlos turns to James.

"Um," James starts, "we were thinking, maybe... like. The island's fucking huge, y'know, we could, just. Start walking, as far away from them as we can get. See where we end up."

The worst part is, it sounds good. It's fair and logical and smart and Kendall honestly can't figure out why he's so averse to it until his mouth starts rattling off of its own accord.

"We can't just leave, what the fuck? This is where - everything's here! The waterfall, our water, James - "

"We can find new water."

"The wreck - all our stuff, our supplies, our - "

"We can take it, some of it. The important stuff, we can - "

"But - " Kendall's eyes are darting between the three of them, but everyone seems to be looking at anyone but him. "The caves - Logan's music - "

"It's in my head, Ken," Logan says quietly. "It's all there."

"No!" Kendall scrambles to his feet, scattering sand everywhere. "It's not - we can't just - no."

Carlos sighs. "Kendall, this isn't your decision to make, we're all - "

"Who fucking made you boss, Garcia? Fuck you, I already lost my home once, I'm not gonna lose it again!"

He stalks out of the circle, away from the fire and the other three bodies, bends over to grab the nearest spear off the ground, and heads into the forest, trying to lose the visual in his head of what the three of them must look like, sitting there without him, three sides to their four-sided circle, warped and incomplete.

He doesn't have to look back to know they're watching him go, but he's too worked up to realize how much that means.

Logan's kind of amazed at how he keeps falling in love.

It's already happened, he knows, with Kendall and in a slightly different way, maybe, with Carlos, and James is... there's something, he just hasn't figured it out yet. Mostly he can't see one without the other, so it's kind of this fused spread of KendallCarlosJames, and it's overwhelming and so beyond ordinary Logan hasn't let himself really analyze it much, yet. Logan spent a good chunk of his life trying to be ordinary, to chase the normality left out of his childhood.

He's starting to realize, slowly, that he maybe doesn't want normal at all.

It's still overwhelming, sometimes, that it keeps happening, he keeps falling harder: like whatever he'd felt before was nothing compared to this, because he's sure when he climbs into the clearing and spots Kendall seated on the cliff beside the waterfall, the feeling that grips his chest and refuses to let up is stronger than anything he can remember feeling his whole life.

Kendall's head is tipped downward, the sides of his cheeks shiny in a long trail down to his chin. His shoulders are hunched and the lines of his back are tense, carried into his arms as they curl around his knees folded up to his chest. He looks broken and defeated, two things Kendall generally manages to avoid letting himself succumb to at all costs, but Logan still thinks he's never seen anything more beautiful.

When he sits down to Kendall's left, it's daunting how quick it comes back, how the distance and angle of that one tree is the same as it was last time; how the rush of the waterfall is just far enough off not to interfere with their voices, should they need them. It's not quite sunset, and the first waves of pink and orange have heated Kendall's skin, making Logan's fingertips tingle as he reaches a hand up to his shoulder.

He thinks of confessions and first kisses and the best night of his life, and as Kendall's eyes lift, he thinks too of change, and how hard it is. How much we resist it when we're not the ones to initiate it; when it's forced on us, inescapable and nonnegotiable, beyond our power, like all their lives have become, leaving them with nothing but each other.

Still, Logan's a little surprised to realize how little else he really needs.

Kendall's eyes are red and wet and empty, just as they were the last time, but Logan knows he can't fix it tonight.

"What are you scared of?" Logan asks.

Kendall swallows, studying Logan like he's trying to gauge how much he's going to be judged for this. "This," he whispers. "I - I've lost everything. Except you. All of you. And things - keep changing, but it seems like they'd finally stopped, you know? Like I stopped wanting to... not be here. Like things were... okay, and we were all finally okay, and we were all together, and." He blushes a little at the last bit, and Logan's heart jumps, because he was worried he'd been the only one thinking it. "I mean. Just. Nothing, I'm not making sense, I - "

"Ken."

Logan scoots himself around until he can meet Kendall head-on, and cups his hands around Kendall's jaw, holding him in place until their eyes lock, and he leans in, drawing him into a kiss that Kendall meets willingly, opening for Logan at the first touch, their tongues stroking and joining in all the ways their bodies can't. Logan's thorough, pushing into Kendall's mouth until he's sure he's memorized every inch, until he's sure all the words he doesn't know how to say are deposited into Kendall's mouth somehow through that kiss. It doesn't help how red and swollen Kendall's lips are when they separate, doesn't make it easier to see his pupils blown, his breath harsh and mouth open, and all Logan wants to do throw him down to the ground and fuck him into the next century.

But he squeezes Kendall's hands and forces himself back into focus and says, "I won't forget."

"I..."

"Ever. This. Us. This isn't... 'what happens on the island stays on the island.' Got it? This is for real. This is for good. All of us. I don't care what happens."

Kendall nods, or starts to, but his head jerks abruptly when he realizes he's doing it, like he's not quite ready to surrender that easily. "But - Logan, I. This is." His eyes are welling up again, scrunching to fight back the tears. "This is home. I don't want to go."

"I know," Logan whispers. "I don't either. But. You told me home can be a person."

Kendall watches him, silent. He's used to having his own words thrown back at him, but not when the stakes are so high.

He says, "Can home be three people?"

Logan smiles.

When Kendall stands, tugs on Logan's hand, and says, "Come with me," Logan doesn't ask where. It's always seemed his band was forever following Kendall, but the truth is, that was just luck. If any of them had decided to go elsewhere, he'd have followed. And he wouldn't have asked where.

Kendall leads him down into the water. It's scarcely hip-deep but it takes enough effort to wade out to the falls and slip beneath them to the other side. There's the heavy, exhilarating rush of the water pounding down on them for a split second and then it's over and they're in the dark space behind it. Last time it was too dark to see much of anything and they'd had more pressing matters on their minds; Logan had found himself on his back on the ledge underneath before he'd realized it; but this time is different.

He figures Kendall's probably done this a thousand times on family camping trips, but it's new to him and he cranes his neck up to see the top of the falls above them, in awe of the strange visual. He thinks it's maybe kind of like being on the other side of the rainbow. Not that he'll ever tell Kendall that as long as he lives, thanks, because he's survived enough gay jokes for one lifetime or ten.

He's jolted back to reality when he feels Kendall's hands on his hips, easing him backward until his back touches the cool flat surface of rock behind him. Kendall's hand comes immediately to scoop around the back of Logan's head, protecting it from the impact, and the next thing he knows Kendall's mouth is on his, Kendall's body pinning his against the rock, gentle but firm, and this is the first time Kendall's ever taken this level of initiative and Logan's relatively sure he could drown in it and never want for air.

His arms drape around Kendall's shoulders and Kendall's got his hands on Logan's ass, pulling until he hops up and hooks his legs around Kendall's waist. The grind of their hips is deliberate, purposeful and heavy and hot despite the cool of the water, and Logan's pretty sure the roar of blood in his ears is louder than the falls inches away.

"Want you," Kendall says into his ear, and it makes Logan shiver to hear his voice this close at normal volume to overpower the rush of the falls, because seriously, Kendall's voice. "Want you so fucking bad."

Logan tries to respond but his head's getting fuzzy and his mouth isn't close enough to Kendall's ear to be heard, so he just closes his eyes and goes with it.

"I'm tired of waiting," Kendall says, and it's choked; Logan can hear, feel the frustration in his voice, in his touch as it grows bolder, rougher, and Logan just arches into it. "I just want to bring you home and spread you out on the bed and just, god, Logan, just fucking take you."

Logan's whole body shakes, and his gasps are swallowed by the roar of the water but the way his body responds is answer enough. He can feel the strain in Kendall's tone, the way he's still holding back like he's afraid to say all this, say how much he wants it, but Logan knows, knows how therapeutic it is for him, knows Kendall needs to say it and Logan needs to hear it. And maybe it's just escape for them both right now, mindlessly drawing them away from the subtly enduring chaos of their lives, but this, this is the chaos they need; this is what has to serve as their release, when they can't have the kind they really crave.

Kendall's hand slips down between their bodies and into Logan's boxers and makes a soft squeeze around his length. "Would you let me do that?"

Logan almost cries for the lingering fear in the question, still, even now, that tiny part of Kendall that's afraid Logan'll say no, so he nods, frantic, and hopes Kendall can feel it.

"Tell me how you'd want it," Kendall whispers, an inch of confidence seeping into his tone. "You want me to go slow, let you feel every drag of me inside you, or just fuck you into the mattress so you feel it for weeks?"

Logan squeaks and comes harder than he has since he was sixteen.

It's strange, how you can get an image of something fixed in your head, comfortable and already familiar regardless of its reality, and then when the reality does hit, the slightest deviation from that fixed image can send your head reeling.

It's a little nebulous and dramatic, maybe, but it fits. When Logan tells Kendall on the walk back that Carlos and James had headed up to the cliffs and asks if Kendall wants to head up as well, Kendall expects just that, to see them side by side, gazes beaming out into the horizon to soak up the last sunset they'll see from here.

That's pretty much what he sees, only they're not looking out at the sky. They're looking at each other. Well, they're facing each other. There isn't a lot of looking going on seeing as their eyes are closed, their faces only inches apart with the distance fast closing, and when their lips finally meet, Kendall claps a hand over his mouth.

"Well don't let us interrupt," Logan says wryly, a smile on the edge of his voice, and Kendall snorts.

It's awesome how flustered they look as they jerk apart, eyeing Logan and Kendall with shock and a hint of disdain.

"You assholes," Carlos threatens, but he's smiling.

"I'm totally jizzing on your pillow tonight," James adds, but Kendall can't bring himself to file that under the Bad category.

"Whatever, Diamond, I'll just shoot all over your favorite spear," Logan counters, taking a seat beside them and it's a second before the innuendo hits everyone, but when it does, everyone but Logan dissolves to snorts and giggles and James even falls back onto the ground, head pillowed across an arm. "Oh, whatever," Logan whines. "You're all children."

"Is that so?" Carlos challenges, raising an eyebrow before he lunges forward and straddles James, leaning down to seal their mouths together. Logan watches open-mouthed, and Kendall gasps a bit, and it should be a little unnerving, the exhibitionism, watching their friends grind their hips into each other's, but to Kendall it just feels like home, like they're not seeing anything they shouldn't, anything that isn't normal as morning coffee and afternoon naps.

That must mean something, he figures, but he can't think about much else at the moment besides the wet pink of their tongues as they dip into each other's mouths, and somehow more incredibly, the way Carlos's hand slides out across the ground until it meets Logan's, their fingers lacing automatically. Kendall holds his breath as Carlos slowly breaks the kiss with James, both of them turning their heads to smile gently at Logan, and Logan smiles back, and to Kendall the entire thing looks he's missing something, something that he would only understand if he were there, sharing the physical contact they've created.

Carlos catches his eye first and whispers something into Logan's ear. Logan nods and Kendall doesn't know what to do with himself; he's usually the first to jump in on anything this physical; hell, he's usually the first to initiate it, but now something is freezing him to the spot and he wants to understand so badly, but he's afraid if he steps forward and touches them, what if it isn't enough, what if he still doesn't get it, and then what? It's not like him to be so doubtful of something so obviously safe, but then again, nothing's ever meant this much to him. If he loses it, shatters the perfect balance somehow, there's no way he could live with that.

Carlos climbs off James and starts toward Kendall and Kendall braces himself for another lecture, but Carlos simply smiles at him and takes his hand, leading him a few feet away to allow them some privacy.

Behind him, Kendall can see Logan with his head pillowed on James's stomach and James's hands carding through his hair, the two of them smiling at each other like they have a secret. Kendall's not jealous, but he wants that for himself, the ease, the peace in their faces.

He keeps his eyes on them, not ready to look at Carlos until Carlos demands it.

Carlos demands it. "Ken," he urges gently.

Kendall looks up, feels Carlos squeeze his hand.

"Hey."

"Hey," Kendall echoes.

"I'm sorry."

"Los, no, I - I was - "

"You were hurting. I was an ass. I'm sorry."

Kendall studies his eyes, and it looks like whatever pain he'd had has transferred to Carlos, and that hurts even more. "You weren't," he says. "I'm just."

"Scared. I know. And where we are is..."

"Home."

"Yeah."

They share matching smiles then, like neither of them quite know when they started finishing each other's sentences, but the surprise is a good one.

"So," Kendall smirks. "You tryin' to steal my James, huh?"

Carlos smiles wide and carefee, the way Kendall loves but never sees enough. "Yeah, you gonna fight me for him?"

"If that's what it takes, Garcia," Kendall sighs, shaking his head and trying failingly for dramatic. "If that's what it takes."

Carlos's smile fades a bit, but not in an unhappy way, more like he's distracted, and Kendall doesn't fail to notice the way Carlos's eyes drop down from his a few inches and settle.

No way.

Kendall smiles, letting his tongue peek out to wet his lips, but he manages to keep quiet.

Carlos chuckles a little breathlessly. "So."

Kendall smiles a little wider, and Carlos finally meets his eyes again, a little flushed when he realizes the moment he just initiated. Kendall milks it, though, raising an eyebrow and biting his lip.

"Whatever," Carlos says, just the way Logan says it when he's more amused than annoyed but doesn't want to reveal it, and it's fucking adorable on Carlos, accompanied by blushing and a complete loss of knowledge of what to do with his hands, which for him is amazing and strange and hilarious.

"If you're done not kissing each other," James calls suddenly, and Kendall hears Logan giggle, "get the fuck over here before the sun goes down."

"Um," Carlos says, staring at the ground and Kendall can almost feel the mental flip-off Carlos's telepathically sending to James.

Carlos messes with his hands some more and starts back, but stays close to his side as they walk, settling between Logan and James until they're side by side, shoulders and sides pressed against one another, eyes set on the horizon.

Slowly, hands slip into hands until no one's fingers aren't entwined with someone else's. Kendall feels his heart pound and his hands turn clammy, and he's terrified that this could be the last time they sit here, in the face of the most perfect sunset on the planet. He's terrified of the unknown, and he's not even sure he's just talking about the island.

He rests his head on James's shoulder and tells himself this is a beginning, not an end.

Luckily, he's right.


	17. Chapter 17

__**Erin- sorry it's not what you were expecting :( In my eyes Kogan is the "main" pairing because they were meant for each other, but it's definitely OT4 and I didn't mean to imply that it wasn't anywhere. Hopefully the end of this chapter will help you in terms of story progression.**

_Kendall smiles brightly. He's afraid if he doesn't, he might die._

_Logan nods politely and Carlos kind of glares because, clearly, this guy's going to have to prove he can look after Logan before Carlos will believe it._

_James gulps._

_Freight Train looks them up and down appraisingly and shakes his head, turning to Gustavo, who's standing beside him about six feet down from Freight Train's eye level._

_Gustavo grins up at him. "Easy as pie, right?"_

_Freight Train blinks. "You've got to be kidding me."_

_"Aw, come on, man. You did security for J-Lo. These guys don't even have an album out yet."_

_Kendall snorts his amusement but Logan looks slightly betrayed. Carlos squeezes his hand._

_"That's my point," Freight Train explains. "They don't need me. J-Lo could look after them."_

_Gustavo cackles. "They'll love you," he decides, and leaves the room._

_Kendall is bouncing on his feet a little, mostly because he's excited to ask questions about J-Lo but he's afraid if he does, he might die. It's kind of hard to remember this guy is hired to protect them when he looks like he could crush them all simultaneously in one hand, and might, if they try anything funky._

_"So," Freight Train says, forcing a smile. "Names?"_

_"I'm Kendall. How long were you with J-Lo? Why'd you stop? Is it true that she - "_

_Logan pinches his ass, hard, and any other time, Kendall might find it highly arousing, but it really fucking hurts and Freight Train's looking at him suspiciously._

_"I'm Logan. This is Carlos, and James." Freight Train nods to each of them in turn as they wave shyly. "Um. So. Thanks for, uh. I mean. You might get kinda bored, it's not like we have girls beating down our tour bus or anything, we're not... famous."_

_Kendall doesn't miss the slightly anxious tone in Logan's voice, like he's afraid his words will be true forever._

_Freight Train raises an eyebrow. "Who's the frontman?" Kendall waves shyly. Freight Train sighs and says, "You will be."_

_Logan looks excited, but Kendall, although blushing, feels vaguely terrified. Those buses are huge, and any teenage girl who can beat one down is pretty fucking scary to him._

_"So, here's the deal," Freight Train starts, and Kendall suddenly feels like he should be standing at attention in one of those uniforms they had in The Sound of Music, and oh my god, how awesome would it be if they could get costumes like that for the stage, and - shutting up now. "I get paid to make sure you don't experience one of the following things, including but not limited to, mugging, molestation, rape, kidnapping, poisoning, unwanted attention or physical contact from fans or any other individual -"_

_Logan smirks sideways at Kendall and asks, "Does that rule apply to inner-band individuals?" Kendall sticks out his tongue._

_Freight Train smirks. "Basically it's my job to keep you safe. I'm not your babysitter, I'm not your tour manager, I won't get up in the middle of the night to go to Manhattan if you're craving New York cheesecake. But your well-being is in my hands and I will do anything, and I mean anything, to uphold it. Alright?"_

_"Sweet," Kendall grins._

_Freight Train narrows his eyes. "However. That does not mean I am responsible for the consequences if one of you - " He looks pointedly at Kendall. " - should happen to leap outside the boundaries of normal human behavior and do something incredibly stupid like sneak out of the bus and go ice-skating on a lake you think is frozen and it turns out it isn't and you go through the ice and get hypothermia."_

_Kendall's eyes widen. "Did that happen to J-Lo?"_

_Freight Train looks at him like Kendall suddenly just showed up in the room out of thin air. "...For. Example," he concludes. "Sound fair?"_

_Everyone nods and mumbles their consent and thanks him, and Freight Train sighs in what may be relief or dread, but smiles once more before he bids them farewell and heads out the door._

_James whips out his phone at once and starts responding to texts, and Carlos's phone starts vibrating too, so he holds it to his ear and starts idly toward a corner of the room._

_"Hey. Logan." Kendall tugs on Logan's elbow, ignoring the annoyed face that greets him when Logan turns around. "You hear what he said?"_

_"...I was standing right next to you, Kendall, so, yes, every word, clear as crystal."_

_Kendall ignores that, too, unable to stop smiling. "He said we'd be famous."_

_Everything melts from Logan's face then, and honestly Kendall's a little surprised it was that easy, but it doesn't stop his heart from leaping when Logan returns his smile, to a lesser extent, maybe, but his eyes are sparkling._

_"Yeah. Yeah, I know." _

_"Stop laughing!"_

_"I'm not!" James argues, laughing._

_"You seriously have the stupidest ideas ever."_

_"This was your idea, douchefuck!"_

_Jett's eyes go wide and somehow, simultaneously, scrunch up in disbelief. "Dude! How was this my idea?"_

_"You said you'd never kissed a guy!"_

_"Well yeah, asshole, I'm sixteen, most guys our age haven't!" he counters a bit defensively. "Not all of us are ready to start, like, homo-experimenting yet."_

_James smirks. "Whatever, I just figured you'd wanna try it with someone who's got, y'know. Experience."  
_

_Jett bites his lip, and it might be kinda sexy if James didn't know it was to keep Jett from laughing at him. "Dude. Getting accidentally locked in the bathroom with Beau during Seven Minutes in Heaven at his sister's birthday party doesn't really count as experience."_

_"Hey, there was lip-to-lip contact, okay."_

_"That's gross."_

_"Why, 'cause it was a dude?"_

_"No, 'cause it's Beau."_

_They snicker. Or like, chuckle in a manly fashion. They absolutely don't giggle._

_"All right, whatever, forget it," James shrugs, plopping back down on the bed and reclaiming his Rolling Stone._

_"Oh come on, you can't back out now."_

_James sighs, a grin tugging at his lips as he shoves the magazine aside and pulls himself to his feet._

_"You can't laugh this time," Jett says seriously._

_"Okay, but dude, you gotta close your eyes, otherwise it's just, like, a staring contest with physical contact, which is against staring contest rules in the first place - "_

_"I didn't get close enough last time to close them!"_

_"Whatever, shut up."_

_"Fine."_

_"Fine."_

_James takes a deep breath, taking one more step forward until he and Jett are closer than any friends have any right to be. He looks into Jett's eyes, which are still open, the little fuckface, and for a second James's sure he's gonna ruin it and bust out laughing again. But then everything shifts, suddenly, and in an instant James's whole world feels like it's flipping upside down. Jett's eyes are closer than ever, but they're so fucking blue James kind of forgets to breathe. He doesn't know if this is what it's supposed to feel like before a meaningful kiss, but he sure as fuck hopes it feels like this every time. His senses shoot into overdrive and he becomes acutely aware of every little thing facing him: the way the lines of Jett's throat move as he swallows his nerves, the unconscious way Jett's tongue darts out to wet his lips before his eyes finally drop shut. James closes his then, too, and he lets his instincts guide him the last few inches until he feels Jett's lips against his._

_It wasn't the best aim; he mostly got the corner of Jett's mouth, but Jett shifts a little, and James thinks maybe that's enough, maybe he's pulling away, but Jett tentatively adjusts until their mouths are dead-center on each other and starts slowly moving his lips. James tries to follow him, and it's obvious Jett's done this more than he has, with girls at least, because when his tongue starts to trace the seam between James's lips, it may totally be the best feeling ever._

_James gasps a little and opens up to it until he feels Jett's tongue hitting his, and he wraps his own around it, trying to pull it in further, and Jett makes this awesomely girly noise that James is going to use against him forever, seriously, but he really doesn't mind it right now because Jett's pressing closer until their bodies align and touch and his hands find their way to James's hips, gripping a little possessively and, oh. Yes. Please._

_James figures that's kind of unfair, and he should maybe be doing something with his hands too, so he brings them up to Jett's head and kind of rests them in his hair. His hair's soft, for a guy, and it feels nice to have something to anchor himself with. Plus it doesn't hurt that it gives him leverage to pull Jett a little closer, and by now their tongues seem to have figured out the objective and are well enough occupied that James barely notices when they start moving backward and hit the edge of the bed and down they go, James flat on his back and Jett on top of him._

_It effectively breaks their kiss, and James's eyes shoot open to find Jett's blinding blues staring down at him, his lips pink and shiny and fuller than usual and it's totally James's fault. He smiles._

_Jett smiles back, and it's only a second before they're laughing so hard Jett falls off him and lands somewhere to the side, half on the bed and half off._

_"That was wicked," he declares when he catches his breath._

_"Yeah," James agrees. He'd have used a few more adjectives, maybe, but he won't argue with wicked._

_"Want me to kick your ass at Street Fighter 2?"_

_"You wish, fucker."_

_"HADOUKEN!"_

_"God damn it!"_

_It's tradition that whoever yells it first gets the Good Controller, but James is not going down without a fight, and as they scramble to the floor to start groping around for gaming supplies, James makes sure to ignore the little flutter in his stomach when Jett's hand brushes his._

_"So, um, I was thinking."_

_"You? Seriously? Cool, teach me."_

_Guitar Dude smirks and pokes at him, and Kendall smiles indulgently, slipping one hand into Guitar Dude's while the other continues punching the up-arrow on the remote, searching for the oxymoron of worthwhile television._

_"I was thinking," Guitar Dude repeats, lifting their joined hands and plopping them back down on the sofa cushion, "about. How, uh. My lease is up next month."_

_"Oh, yeah. You started looking yet?"_

_"Not... exactly. I, um. I wasn't... exactly sure what I should be looking for."_

_Kendall can be really fucking stupid sometimes, but he's not stupid by default. Guitar Dude's tone says it all, and when he looks up, Guitar Dude's watching him as expected, his eyes a little anxious, but a small, hopeful smile on his lips that Kendall returns._

_"Well," he starts, drawing it out for kicks. "Bedroom would be good. And like, a living room. And. A place to do that cooking stuff we never do. Oh, and you want a bathroom, I guess."_

_"I want you, Ken."_

_Their eyes meet; Guitar Dude's voice had fallen so quiet and thin Kendall had scarcely recognized it. They both know he didn't have to come out and say the words, but they sound kind of momentous in the air. They sound good, solid, comforting and promising, and Kendall loves that. He feels taken care of, already. Safe._

_But the words also sound kind of overwhelming because this Means Something. Because this is his first relationship that's lasted longer than two months (even though four months is nothing huge) and certainly his first with a guy; the first time he's ever exchanged I-love-you's (never mind he'll forever know he means the words in just that slightly different way than Guitar Dude does). It's a Big Step. It's That Step. For same-sex couples who aren't in Massachusetts, it's kind of The Step, the last one there is, and then there you are. Set. Official. For good._

_Not that that's bad, not that he doesn't want it. Hell, anyone would want it; would want Guitar Dude, want what they have. It's just._

_His mind says Don't, don't but his heart says Logan. His mind comes back with Never, never but he can't shake it from his thoughts._

_He smiles at Guitar Dude and says, "Yeah?"_

_Guitar Dude's face lights up at the positive reaction and he squeezes Kendall's hand a little tighter, reaching around to take the other as well. "I mean. Y'know. You're a fucking rock star and you're still technically living with your parents, man, I figure it's my duty."_

_Kendall raises an eyebrow. "Oh, it's your duty, is it?"_

_Guitar Dude grins. "Plus I... kinda want your stupid clothes lying around."_

_He grins back. "Dude, my clothes are all over your place now."_

_"Yeah, but. When I yell at you to pick them up, you'll be putting them back in our room."_

_And he's so fucking shy about it that Kendall does, really does genuinely just melt in that old-fashioned way, to the point that Logan is barely in his thoughts just now. Guitar Dude's so shy and soft-spoken all the time anyway, and sometimes it's maddening, especially when Kendall needs someone to match his craziness. But right now it's adorable and precious and he knows hands-down this is right. This is as right as his life is going to get, at least. Life has the tendency to never turn out the way we plan, but this? This is good._

_This is enough. It has to be._

_He leans in, pressing a warm, soft smile to Guitar Dude's lips, and whispers, "Yes." _

When they finish packing everything that's going with them, Carlos suggests they torch the remaining bit of wreckage still poking out of the water and no one objects.

Not immediately, at least. Logan, predictably, is extra quiet.

No one wants to acknowledge what it means, to destroy the only thing that would allow them to be found. James thinks it's more acceptance than resignation. Semantics, maybe, but it's all in how you look at it. He finds it's not hard to be positive anymore when you look at things in certain ways: the fact that despite everything they've been through, they're still here, healthy and together.

Staying positive wasn't enough to keep Jett alive though, was it?

James shoves the thought to the part of his brain that doesn't think about those things anymore and starts into the water, motive intent.

"Wait." It's the first word Logan's said, since. All eyes are on him, but his own fixate on the ground. "There's something in Guitar Dude's suitcase Kendall should have."

James watches it unfold, the slow lift of Logan's eyes, Kendall's own already set on his lanky figure huddled on the ground. Logan doesn't say anything as they watch one another, and it doesn't look like he needs to, either.

"I didn't mean to," Logan whispers at the ground. "I'm sorry."

Kendall looks like he might break a little, but James isn't sure how to hold him together when he's in the dark like this.

Carlos is on edge, tense, his eyes following Kendall in a slightly creepy hawk-like manner, ready to leap to his side should he be needed. But Kendall only sits down beside Logan staring out at the flat, limitless plane of water, and blinks back tears. They're not touching, but when Logan walks his fingers across the sand to close them over Kendall's, Kendall curls his own around them tightly.

James has no idea what any of it's about, but he doesn't think that matters.

The wreck rises high in flames, easily visible from any distance in the sky, and James wonders if they'd done this sooner, when maybe people were still looking, if they'd have been found. The thick, smokey orange flickers fuse brilliantly with the sunrise, and James's fingers itch unbearably for a camera for the first time in months.

Kendall wordlessly shoves a black portfolio into his knapsack and James doesn't fail to notice that his wet, red eyes don't look back at camp once.

Leaving camp is utterly anticlimactic, as their first stop holds more sentiment for some of them than camp itself. They reach the waterfall to fill every last bottle they have, and Kendall's eager to help but neither James nor Carlos will let him. He stands on the cliff and watches them, watches the white rush of water pour down into the pool and lets the sound of it cement itself into his aural memory.

Logan tries to help them but Carlos places a gentle hand on his hip, leans in to whisper. Logan climbs back up the bank and wraps his arms around Kendall from behind, hooking his chin over Kendall's shoulder until Kendall leans into it, nuzzling Logan's cheek with his nose, eyes closed. Logan's hands cross over Kendall's chest from behind, and Kendall closes his fingers around Logan's fists, holding him in place.

James catches the sight from the water's edge and his fingers itch more than ever.

It takes him the time to fill eight bottles before he realizes he's not even sure if it's for a camera.

It's entirely possible they're just itching to touch.

Ten minutes from the caves, Logan slips his hand into James's and James clenches tight. It's been a long time since he's felt these fingers in his own: Logan's too long, his own too short, and the way it seems to balance out when they entwine. James can feel the nerves in Logan's grip this time, and as much as he wishes he could ease them, he extracts an oddly comforting familiarity from it - the way Logan never fails to work himself into a nervous wreck before sharing new music or a new experiment with the rest of them, even though it's just them.

At James's request, Carlos's clutched the torch without question since they left camp despite the fact that it's not yet noon and the sun is high; but by now, the question in his eyes is clear.

Logan releases James's hand and turns to them. "Um. I have something to show you."

It's his only introduction, but James has seen the rough, uneven bar lines and their occupants, piles and piles of scattered notes; had his breath stolen by the messy black words etched beneath them; he knows they need no introduction.

Carlos and Kendall follow them into the first wide-mouthed cave, allowing their eyes to adjust to the light and when they do, their mouths drop open, jaws slowly descending in awe as their eyes scan the endless expanse of songs. James counted fourteen last time, but he knows Logan's added a couple since. It's an album's worth and then some.

"Holy shit," Carlos breathes.

"Um." Logan shuffles nervously, pointing to a thickly scribbled space on the wall. "This one's about you."

Carlos looks at Logan with big, open eyes and turns to the wall. James kind of wishes for his camera, just to immortalize Carlos's face as he reads, but he knows a camera couldn't capture the buzz humming through the air when Carlos scans through the lyrics and fits the pieces together. He looks up only to find that Logan's crept up beside him. Their hands slip into one another's and neither says a word beyond what's written in their eyes.

"And, um." Logan releases him finally, crossing over to where Kendall's staring glassy-eyed at James's personal favorite, one of the ballads. "That one's about you," he tells Kendall. "Um. Well. Us."

James smiles at the ground. Watching Logan like this, voice dwindled to a whisper, almost painfully vulnerable, is nearly too much to take in.

When he looks up, Kendall's got tears welling in his eyes and his hands cupping Logan's face. James is barely the tiniest bit jealous just for an instant, only because he wishes he could've been surprised like this, with everyone here, like a showcase. But seeing as Logan's already shown him his song, in private weeks ago and in the midst of profuse blushing, he isn't about to complain, especially as he's helped write the music for half the others.

When Logan shows them the love song, no one speaks.

Kendall stares wide-eyed and Carlos finally whispers, "Logan," and James thinks that about covers it.

Kendall's chin is hooked over Logan's shoulder when he slips one hand into Carlos's and the other into James's, and four sets of eyes gaze at the fire-lit expanse of stone.

James's eyes linger over his favorite lyric, thinking it shouldn't make nearly as much sense to him as it does, and something inside him as he reads sends sparks down his spine.

he crept into the four sided circle

climbed the walls

until they climbed back

and he sunk into the curves

till they swallowed him down

James kind of lives for surprises.

Mostly he lives for the look on the person's face, because it's the kind of look he'd want captured on film.

The looks on these three boys' faces, however, is nothing that could be captured with anything, when James leads them into an adjoining cave and shows them the floor-to-ceiling charcoal sketch he'd completed of all four of them. Logan fixes him with a gawking, when-did-you-do-this-and-how-did-I-not-know face, just the kind James had been waiting to see, and he favors him with a small, sheepish smile.

Kendall squeezes him so hard he's afraid his lungs might burst, and Carlos very subtly but very purposefully backs James up against the opposite wall and joins their mouths.

Seriously, surprises are the best.

It was hard to get the details of all their facial features down in such low lighting over the months he'd worked on it, but James came to realize the faces weren't important, because he'd drawn all the figures connected, one merging into the next, and it's taken him until now, until seeing their reactions, to realize just how much that could mean, if they let it.

The decision to leave the broken, waterlogged cameras by the caves is unanimous.

There is a tree at the edge of the clearing in front of the caves with a low-hanging branch, and James hooks all three cameras over the branch by their straps: his; Jett's; Guitar Dude's.

He whips out his Swiss Army knife and hands it first to Kendall and they stand back as he carves the words into the bark.

GD, you were my perfect sunset. Love, K

He's a tear-stained mess when he finishes, and when James's turn comes he swears to all things on earth he won't cry, but when he's done, he can barely see through the fog of built-up tears as he completes the last letter.

Jett, forever-n-ever I will remember. J.

They find a boulder not far from the tree and Logan slips back into the cave to retrieve one of the blackened stones, each of the four signing their name under the message:

Freight Train,

You were our rock.

Treading back over the cliffs one last time, the wind whipping through four heads of messy, uncut hair and across the crests of waves hurdling over the bright aqua of the ocean below, James wonders why leaving LA never hurt this much.

"Can you try it like - "

"A little slower?"

"Yeah... yeah, don't rush the intro."

Carlos counts them in, two sticks against a fallen log at tonight's camp, but it's enough to sustain rhythm, enough for them to all pretend this could be what it always was - to remember that, once upon a time, there was a band called Big Time Rush, and they did this together for real.

Logan tries hard to stop it from feeling like another lifetime ago.

"Once upon a time, the world ended..."

Kendall's voice rings through on cue; James's soft harmony creeps in, and Logan fumbles with the remaining three strings on the guitar, but it's enough to lead them through the basics of the melody. It's unusual, their style now; musically independent of specific influences; closer, maybe, to their original sound, with bizarre, all-over chord progression - but overall softer, more intense somehow. Despite the evolution, the rush of playing something new for the first time feels the same as ever, and Logan clings to it.

He closes his eyes against the unfamiliar trees surrounding them, and pretends they're in the studio for the third time, eager to drown in the echoing open space and the scent of well-worn instruments; the sights of endless control panels and microphones everywhere they turn, just waiting to capture their creations.

Two days before their water supply runs out, countless miles from where they started and no map to return, water finally greets them.

"Greets" is a generous term. Spoiled by the zen-like aura of their waterfall back home, the tiny trickling stream is nothing beyond functional, but at this point, no one can complain about functional.

It's nearly an hour walk from there to the nearest beach, a far cry from the fifteen-minute jaunt from before, but as insomnia has stolen over them all on the trip, no one can bear to consider spending another night away from the soft, blanketing rhythm of the waves against the shore, beckoning their heartbeats to match it.

The beach here is strange and quiet and unwelcoming, even independent of their bias. The strip of sand by camp isn't big enough for football or anything else, much. Fish are fewer, harder to catch. The insects aren't as vocal, almost as if they don't really care to be there either; there aren't any cliffs, nowhere to escape, and the sun doesn't set in any place they can see from here.

When Kendall curls against the other three under a midnight wind and says, "I want to go home," no one thinks he means the Palm Woods, because he doesn't.

James takes him for a walk.

There's nothing to see here; no exciting places to explore; no epically phallic plants to spark a year's worth of jokes; no dreamlike expanse of fruit and fantasy.

Kendall's hand slips into his and James wonders why it's taken him this long to notice that there are no longer guitar calluses on his fingertips, replaced by an all-over roughness from spear hunting; that the strong, sharp pianist's edge in his grip has softened, no longer possessing a purpose; and simultaneously hardened, his hands now focused day in day out on survival.

But they walk, and James holds his hand anyway, and when he asks Kendall if he could sing, maybe, if he wanted, Kendall does.

James effortlessly slips into harmony on "A Whole New World" and thinks only of how lucky he is, to belong to these three boys.

On June 9 - not that anyone's still keeping track of days - the last guitar string breaks.

Logan stays up all night afterwards, crouched in ankle-deep water and refusing to move, his knees hugged tight to his chest and the broken string coiled limp in his hands as the tears spill, deceptively silent and unassuming.

The others stay with them, huddled together, until Carlos can't stop yawning and Kendall mouths to James, It's okay. James hoists Carlos up and takes him to bed twenty feet away, but Kendall stays.

He stays with his chest pressed to Logan's back, his arms and legs wrapped around the older boy, and Logan holds on tight.

It's maybe three or four in the morning when they start kissing and can't seem to stop, until Kendall's flat on his back with the water pooling around his shoulders, Logan on top of him, grinding their hips together and Kendall doesn't know when they seem to have stripped their clothes off, leaving them in a dizzying state of skin-on-skin. Their hands are busy holding each other in place, desperate the other is going to disappear any moment: Kendall's are firm on Logan's hips, moving only to slide up and down his sides, feeling Logan's body undulate against his, guiding him, until Logan manages to get ahold of both Kendall's wrists and pin them over his head, pushing them down hard into the wet sand beneath. Kendall swears he hears a gasp drift out to them from camp, but the next moment his brain goes numb as he feels Logan's other hand slip down between his legs, gently teasing until Kendall's writhing and pushing into it, and Logan slips one finger inside him, then two, crooks them once, twice, and Kendall's coming all over their stomachs, mixing with the light splash of water between their bodies.

Logan drapes himself over Kendall, head to toe, whispers, "Don't stop touching me," as if Kendall ever could.

When the sun rises an hour later, they're still kissing. Logan has slipped into Kendall's lap, straddling him, their limbs wrapped around one another, bodies moving in waves as their mouths slide over each other, like maybe the water's rhythm has stolen over them, trapped them in it.

They don't stop until it's light enough to see out over the water, all the way to the horizon.

Until they realize there's something blocking the horizon.

Logan's grip on his hand is hard enough to ensure Kendall may never play another instrument again, and the only reason this might actually matter now is because that thing blocking the horizon looks suspiciously like a boat.

And that may very well be because it is.


	18. Chapter 18

**only a couple more chapters after this!**

I.

There's a fragile stretch of five solid minutes before any outward reaction grips them. Kendall finds it extraordinary that the sun keeps rising steadily; that the early morning birds are just slipping into the day's first rounds of conversation; that the diminished shells of once-great waves still spill over their bodies like nothing's different, like the world isn't coming to a fucking standstill.

The moments feel like a glass fantasy: like one breath could shatter it, and Kendall 's thrown by how backwards everything suddenly feels. The humid, salty air feels normal; the water on their skin feels normal; the sounds of isolation and nature are more familiar than the rhythm of their own heartbeats, now - but a sign of the world, a world that's no longer theirs, feels more foreign than the island has in nearly a year.

Kendall knows there's really little point in yelling, waving frantically, or hurriedly attempting to spark a fire at camp, as the boat is clearly headed their way to dock. He and Logan gaze outward for so long, so lost in the impossible reality, that neither of them notices Carlos and James approaching until the sound of their breaths start to reach their ears.

The boat - the boat, with people, real people who aren't out to have them for supper - the boat's white, about twice as big as an average-sized house, but no Titanic. It's long, white, flat-ish and rectangular, dull and little beyond functional, with small windows and a wide deck circling the exterior. It's clearly a research boat, and Kendall's struck momentarily with a thought that almost makes him laugh: Save your time, your grant dollars; we can tell you whatever you want to know.

Kendall starts to notice the way the four of them slowly evolve into reactionary states: the slow, steady quickening of four breaths, the way their hands slip into each other's and hold on like they might all just sink into the sand before the boat reaches them. But what's most stunning is the queasy sense of fear settling deep in the pit of his stomach, a fear he recognizes from ten months ago as fear of the unknown. And nothing but this has been enough to make him realize how far they've come - that what was once familiar is now frightening; that home has evolved from street names, bricks and walls and driveways, to warm bodies and a patch of sand at the edge of a forest that now feels as far away as California.

The boat docks not far off in the water; about the same distance as it was from camp to the wreck, but the irony's flooded out by more pressing emotions and the pounding thud-thud of Kendall's heartbeat as he watches four men in blue jeans and polo shirts descend to the water in an inflatable rowboat and push their way towards shore.

Before Kendall knows what's happening, he's shaking the hand of an over-friendly someone who doesn't look like he'd speak English but introduces himself as Jack, not Sparrow, Jack from Universitas Indonesia, biology professor who's spearheading a month-long research project on wildlife on some of the more obscure, yet-to-be-explored uninhabited islands in the area, and, what, this is an area? and Kendall's almost starting to wonder if everything has been a dream, a fucking joke, the cruelest trick ever, if they've been this close to civilization this whole time, and what, what, what.

It turns out the "area" isn't all that compact; it's a two-day trip back into the mainland but still, and when Carlos's the first one to find his voice and try to Explain (this is a dream, seriously, either the last ten months or the last ten minutes, one of them is totally, totally a dream, Kendall's sure of it), it takes a few moments of Jack eyeing them in stark disbelief before his eyes widen and -

"Are - oh my - you're - holy sh - you're. You're that band?"

Carlos scans his eyes to the three of them and nods a little warily. "I - I think it's probably safe to say we're... 'that band.'"

"The ones from the U.S.? They - they were looking for you like three hundred miles from here, are you kidding me?!"

"Our plane went off course," James answers numbly, as the others behind Jack stare slack-jawed and exchange whispers, and his voice is thin, soft and invisible like Kendall's never heard it, but his eyes are alive and flashing, and when they meet Kendall's, it's clear James's just as convinced as he is that this can't be real.

Logan stands behind Carlos, keeping himself small and two-dimensional, and doesn't say anything.

Less than a half-hour; less time than a headlining set, passes between the time four sets of eyes settled on the white rectangle of the ship and the time they find themselves boarding it, barefoot and underwear-clad, clutching their spears and beat-up knapsacks like lifelines and dodging every stare and whisper that follows them.

This is really, really not that dream, Kendall realizes.

But it's a dream. It's some dream. It has to be.

He wonders if it's going to take awhile for the shock to wear off, before he'll be smiling, weeping tears of joy, leaping up and down and screaming in ecstasy at their impossible luck.

Or, if he'd already found his happiness, back in a patch of sand, blanketed by perfect sunsets and his family, the sound of the waves and their heartbeats, and never realized it.

Jack deems this momentous enough to postpone the expedition two days and deliver them back to the mainland, and Carlos doesn't stop hassling him about keeping this between them until he's convinced Jack isn't going to slip out of the room and start making international calls to Rolling Stone and People.

Instead, he finds them proper clothes, offers them some water (which they drink, out of fresh bottles, twisting off the sealed caps for the first time). They settle their belongings into a spare room on board before Jack leads them to a room with a table, chairs, an old sofa, and some sort of hardcore mobile phone; explains how to use it, and tells them to take as long as they need.

Kendall's still getting used to the sound of other humans' voices that they almost don't register the words, the gesture, and forget to thank him.

The four of them stare at the phone like they're waiting for it to explode and laugh in their faces, until Carlos looks up and says, "Does anyone remember any numbers?"

They stare at each other, silent, because who the fuck remembers numbers anymore when everything's programmed into digital phone books, but Logan finally blinks and bites his lip.

"I know Gustavo's."

There have been two times in Kendall's life that he can remember being grateful for Logan's unwavering attention to detail: the first was the moment he got a C on a book report Logan wrote to keep him in school and in California. The other is now.

It's strange enough sitting in chairs, looking around at walls and out a tiny window - a window - at the ocean, but nothing tops watching Logan with a phone cradled by his ear, eyes wide and terrified, his face looking younger than it did the day Kendall met him.

"Um." He clears his throat, quick, desperate. "Um, Gustavo. It's Logan. Mitchell. I. I know you don't pick up if you don't know the number, but I'm calling from... overseas, so. You can call this number back, or like, if that doesn't work, just. Pick up next time you see this, okay? Um. I'll - explain. Okay. Right. I - okay."

He hangs up quickly and drops the phone on the table, gazing at each one of them in turn as though daring them to mock his regression to adolescent awkwardness.

They wait ten minutes, and Kendall isn't sure what they're waiting for, but they're used to waiting; used to idle moments where nothing happens, and he doesn't feel impatient like he would've a year ago, before. This.

Logan's fingers are creeping across the table toward the phone after fifteen minutes when it finally rings, loud and tinny and terrifying in the silence, and they all take a communal jump back.

Logan snatches it up. "Hello? - Hey - no, I - it's - no, this isn't a joke, Gustavo, it's - no, I. No, wait, it's - " There's a pause, as four breaths halt, and Logan's voice drops. "Yeah, it's. It's me."

Kendall sinks into the nearest chair, which Carlos happens to be seated in, but Carlos doesn't budge, just slips his arms around Kendall's waist and holds him there like an anchor. Kendall can feel Carlos's heartbeat pounding against his back through the thin white cotton of their borrowed t-shirts as they listen to Logan's near-whispered tones and Gustavo's freak-out responses as Logan tries to cram the past year of their lives into a five-minute conversation, promising to call back with details of their location and please not to make this public, just call their families but don't bring them, they'll see them when they return; and Gustavo announcing he's online scouring the travel sites for international flights even as they speak, yelling in the background for Kelly, who's apparently not in the mood for jokes and thinks Gustavo is a fucking asshole who needs to lay off the coffee, and not interrupt Kelly when she's in the zone working on the details to their newest band's tour.

There's silence, muted voices, and the sound of Kelly's cup hitting the ceramic kitchen tiles.

When Logan hangs up he looks like he's taking his first breath in twenty minutes, and collapses against James, who just so fortunately happens to have flattened himself against a wall. His arms encircle Logan and don't let go until Jack taps on the door and invites them to dinner.

Wearing pants again blows.

Kendall expresses this three times before they meet with Jack and the six other researchers in the small dining area of the ship, and never have his bandmates so wholeheartedly agreed with him on the merits of near-nudity. Kendall and Logan are back in girls' jeans, as only one of the female researchers was small enough to lend them pants that wouldn't slide right down their legs. James and Carlos are in some awkward khaki-looking ensembles, and Kendall doesn't miss a chance to poke fun at them, try to lighten the mood. He's still amazed that the mood needs to be lightened; that they aren't all beside themselves with joy. He searches for things to blame it on, like culture shock, but it's not like he hasn't traveled all over the globe, and these people are as normal as any he's met in the U.S.

His jeans itch, stretching and tightening and rubbing in all the wrong spots as he curls into his chair at dinner. Logan squeezes his hand under the table and it calms him a bit, but it doesn't cease the obnoxious clinking of silverware against plates, or the stares that fall just short of furtive, from everyone around the table but Jack, who seems to have been blessed with a far larger sense of decorum than his colleagues.

After awhile Kendall notices several of them are actually staring not at him but at his spear, which he brought to dinner without thinking because he brings it everywhere and no one pointed it out to him, thanks, dickheads, but he doesn't get the chance to glare at anyone because one of the women suddenly speaks up.

"How did you make it?"

Kendall looks at Carlos, who looks at James.

"Um, we found some of the suitcases, so we had a few knives to work with," James answers, poking around at his mashed potatoes.

Kendall looks down at his own and wonders if it would be impolite or just, like, really weird to ask for a plate of fruit, or some nuts.

"Did you use them for fishing or self-defense?" asks another.

"Uh, both," Carlos replies.

"What kind of predators did you encounter?" a third voice chirps excitedly, and all four of them stare down at their plates.

"How did you survive the crash?"

"What did you eat besides fish?"

"Weren't there others with you?"

"Guys," Jack says gently, glancing around the table. "Lay off."

One of the questioners says something eager and pressing to Jack in a language Kendall doesn't understand, and Jack answers back. It sounds snarky and conclusive, enough to turn the other back to his food with a pout. Kendall releases a breath he hadn't known he was holding captive, and Logan offers Jack a grateful glance. Kendall wishes he had words to convey thanks, even though gratitude is, oddly, at the lower end of his list of emotions right now.

He closes his fist around his spoon, digs into his potatoes, and tries to hear-smell-feel the ocean through the sealed round windows above their heads.

The mirror is an accident.

He's so unused to inspecting his reflection that he doesn't even think of it as he plants himself in the tiny bathroom joining the two rooms Jack had found for them for the night, each small and square and drab with two twin beds, on opposite walls. He's squirting real toothpaste onto a real toothbrush in front of a real sink, and the movement in front of him sends his eyes upward until he's staring at something he doesn't remember being his own face.

It's strange how foreign it looks, despite the fact that they're the features he's been living with all this time, only vaguely aware of them in light of their newfound insignificance over the past year, with no photoshoots to prepare for; no stage makeup to don. His hair's down to his chin, wavy and light and parted messily down the middle, kind of pretty in a dirty, unglamorous way. He's tanner than he's been since the last summer he spent land surveying and hoping his dad didn't notice him checking out the other guy on duty; but his skin looks healthier than it's ever looked, eyes bright and glowing against his skin tone, all traces of dark circles gone. There's a fair bit of scruff but nothing remarkable, as he'd still managed to get his hands on spare razors at camp when the heat and humidity became too much and made his skin prickle.

He looks... not older, he thinks. Not in age, at least. Maybe older inside. Which, really, is kind of an ironic observation to make when you're using the physical as reference, but still, it makes sense, to him, and he suspects if he shared it with the others, it would make sense to them too.

When he emerges into one of the bedrooms, Carlos and Logan and James are working to push the two twin beds together in a corner of the room. The second bedroom is abandoned.

When they finish, James announces he's going to sleep and plops down on a side of the newly designed superbed, nestling himself into the thin covers.

"Who's with me?" he asks with a gentle smile, and Logan doesn't hesitate to climb in after him, plastering himself against the length of James's body until their figures are seamless. Kendall hears James whisper something; sees Logan nod against James's chest and burrow closer.

"I think I'm gonna go for a walk," Kendall announces.

The air's cooler out on deck than it ever was at camp: open and breezy and endless, soft winds from every direction; but the air's still salty and damp enough that if he closes his eyes, he can pretend he's home.

They just barely missed sunset, and the water below is dark, swirling in midnight blues that gleam under the moonlight when the wind moves the surface just right. It's a little terrifying, looking down and out into the black expanse, and more than a little disappointing, knowing it's so close but he can't get to it, can't sit a few feet out from shore and feel the water swish over his skin until he falls asleep in someone's arms.

"You jump, I jump, right?"

Kendall jerks around, pulling himself up from where he'd been resting his arms on the railing, and smiles faintly as Carlos approaches with a small smile, genuine but overloaded with conflict.

He matches Kendall 's previous pose, elbows resting on the metal rail, and Kendall returns to it. Their arms brush as they shift and settle, and the skin-on-skin is the only thing that feels familiar. Kendall inches closer.

Carlos nudges him affectionately. "You should really talk before your angst builds up and starts following you around like Logan's."

"Like a lost puppy?"

"Yeah."

Their heads incline together, and they share a smile. "What about you? How are you so put-together?"

Carlos shrugs. "I'm not. I'm repressing. Freaking out silently."

Kendall smiles and huffs, turning back to the ocean. "Yeah, right."

"No?" Carlos stands upright, holding one hand out flat in front of him and using the other to grab one of Kendall 's and clamp it down over the outstretched hand. It takes a minute for Kendall to figure it out, but when he lets himself focus, he can feel Carlos's hand trembling beneath his, vibrantly chaotic like a hummingbird.

"Jesus, Los." Kendall 's eyes soften and he entwines their fingers, squeezing tight in hopes to squeeze the fear right out of the younger boy's skin.

Carlos shrugs again, and they both turn back to the water, hunched over the rail but with their hands still joined.

"So they're asleep?" Kendall asks.

"Yeah."

"Hmm. I figured Logan would be clinging to you like glue."

"I think... right now Logan needs to cling to whatever's strongest. I think... he's really scared. Like you."

Kendall winces a bit at how easy he apparently is to read. "Thing is, I don't even know what I'm scared of. We're going home."

"We're going to California."

"But. I mean. That's home. That's supposed to be home. That should feel right. That's what should feel familiar, not... what we left."

"Maybe..." Carlos's voice drops a few degrees. "Maybe you're - we're - not afraid of leaving the island. Like. Not the physical connection to it, the sand and the water. Maybe... we're afraid of leaving who we became there."

Kendall looks at him, afraid of assuming too much, but equally afraid that if he asks, he'll get it wrong, and everything will shatter.

Something in Carlos's eyes tells him he hasn't got it wrong.

"Maybe..." Carlos says, "we're afraid we'll fall apart. That this... whatever... we are... will become null and void, now that we don't... I don't know, now that we aren't our own universe anymore, y'know? That we have more to answer to than just each other?"

"But do we? Really? Does anyone else really matter?"

Carlos looks at him for a long time before he says, "I don't know."

It's scary, a little, because Carlos usually has the answers, hidden beneath long-winded, childlike answers, or at least enough confidence to cover for them. But it's nice, the silence after that, because Carlos's hand is still in his despite all the doubt clouding the fresh, clean air between them, and when Carlos squeezes his hand, Kendall feels something inside him settle, release.

"I never got to say goodbye," he whispers, his eyes set somewhere on the invisible line between the edge of the ocean and the sky, the collision of two equally unexplainable worlds.

Carlos tugs him closer until his head drops to Carlos's shoulder. "Maybe you won't have to."

II.

The only way Kendall can make himself keep breathing is to pretend. And he's good at pretending; he did it for years. Logan knows. Logan's done it, too.

Turns out, though... he's a little rusty. Guess he hasn't been pretending as much lately as he used to.

He figures that's probably good in theory, but it doesn't stop his heart from pounding down to the pit of his stomach and out of his chest as they step through the glass doors into the hotel lobby, where they know Gustavo and Kelly are waiting for them.

When he catches Gustavo's gigantic frame leaping from a lobby sofa, all bug-eyed sunglasses and bright blue hoodie, he feels like he's home for the first time since they left the island.

Kelly stands too, but doesn't move. Gustavo's moving slowly, but steadily, mouth hanging open a little in shock as he swerves around a potted palm tree in the center of the lobby, steering a straight line toward where Logan has stepped away from the other three and is carefully moving toward him.

Kendall holds his breath, Carlos's hand clenched tight in his right hand; James's in his left; and watches the two converge in the middle of an artsy area rug. There's still a good three feet of space between them for nearly a full minute, Gustavo looking like he's seen a ghost or twenty, until someone breathes or someone blinks and suddenly they're leeching onto each other with a squeak, arms wrapped so tight around one another Kendall can't tell where one of them begins and the other ends. The only thing he can see for sure is tears, endless and streaming. It would be scary to see Gustavo cry if he wasn't so freaked out.

Gustavo's eyes are still closed when he calls, "You other three dogs better get the fuck over here before I rip up your contracts."

They melt into it, all of them, and it's strange having a fifth in the mix like this, but it's perfect, because Gustavo smells like Gucci cologne and coffee and donuts, just like always, and before they know it, there's a sixth pressing against Kendall's back and he turns to find himself in Kelly's arms. He flings his own around her, squeezing until there's probably not a speck of air left in the poor girl's lungs, but Kelly just holds onto him and whispers, "Your hair is ridiculous," to which Kendall replies, "At least I've got some," pointedly looking at Gustavo, and then it's over and he's home and he and Kelly are laughing so hard they couldn't breathe even if their lungs weren't already squashed into oblivion.

The blinding rush of civilization is so overwhelming Kendall actually finds it easier to block out than he'd expected, the same way he could turn deaf ears to five thousand screaming girls every time he crossed the stage, eyes locked to Logan's, speaking of dreams and fantasies and knowing his own would never reach past that moment.

"Yeah, one for me, and my friend," Gustavo's telling the women behind the front desk. "We'll share, two doubles or whatever. And..." He looks to the four of them, face breaking into another grin just at the sight of them, as it has for the past hour. "What do you guys want, you each want your own room?"

Four voices reply "One" in unison, and four sets of eyes dart around, each surprised to find their sentiments shared.

"One king," Logan adds in a small voice.

Carlos is the first to notice just how strangely Gustavo's watching them and says, "We're used to all sleeping together," in his no-nonsense tone that just dares anyone to ask questions.

Gustavo falters a bit but he nods, turns back to the woman and says, "One room, king-size, four keys," and nothing else, and for the first time, Kendall doesn't think Logan was ever exaggerating Gustavo's level of awesome.

Gustavo monopolizes Logan for two hours after dinner, but Logan seems content enough with it that no one tries to snatch him back.

James and Carlos head to the hotel bar for some beers after the exhausting communal round of family phone calls. Kendall's eyes are still red and damp from the call to his parents, then to Guitar Dude's, and burnt into his visual memory are a few moments he'd prefer to forget: James curled in on himself in a giant armchair in a corner of the lobby, trying to explain to Sean why James is alive and Jett isn't.

Kendall sits with them and sips weakly from his beer, but his heart isn't in it; this isn't anything he wants to drown out, and Kelly manages to coax him away with a jerk of his head and a small, promising smile.

"Has it hit you yet?" Kelly asks him when they're seated side by side on the steps leading down to the beach behind the hotel.

Kendall looks up at him. "Not quite. I... I can't tell..."

"...Whether you're in denial or too aware to freak out at all?"

"I - yeah. Yeah, that's just it."

Kelly smiles. "Maybe it's not all black and white."

"Yeah. I don't think it is."

A warm, easy silence sinks over them, and Kendall fixes his eyes to the ocean-bound horizon, the last drizzle of reds and yellows glowing brilliantly in the sky. He pushes back tears and tries not to wish he were on the other side of the sunset, in the surf, sand and dirt and the scent of his best friends embedded in his skin from an after-dinner round of football.

"You're different," Kelly says quietly. "I mean, okay, yeah, not like, we-spent-a-year-on-an-island-and-we're-gonna-need- years-of-therapy different, just..."

Kendall chuckles softly. "Maybe a little of that, too."

She smiles back. "I mean, like. All of you. The way you are with each other. The way you all look at each other. It's different. It's... more."

Kendall meets his eyes, stunned to hear words that might suggest someone actually managed to unravel the storm in his head and calm it, make sense of it, even just a little.

He blinks. "I keep telling myself I'll figure it out."

Kelly nods, her eyes thoughtful as she directs them out to the water. "It looks like you already have."

Logan emerges intact and follows James up to their room while Carlos heads out to find Kendall. James is still focused on just breathing, and it turns out that's enough work on its own that when Logan strips off his t-shirt and says, "I think I'm gonna take a shower," it takes almost a minute for the words to register and for James to say, "Okay."

He perches himself on the foot of the bed and toys with the TV remote in his hand, letting his thumb skitter over the rubber buttons, debating whether he actually has any desire to turn it on. He's still debating half an hour later when the first choked sob sounds mutedly through the bathroom wall, more than enough to propel him to his feet and across the room.

They've lived above (beyond? behind?) boundaries for nearly a year and James doesn't even consider matters of privacy or propriety, simply pushing open the door and stopping with a corner of the shower curtain bunched in one hand.

"...Logan?"

Maybe it was a momentary lapse; a flash of whatever reality this is, striking Logan and recoiling and then it's over; maybe James is not needed after all.

But seeing as it's Logan, he's not banking on it.

"Dude, you okay?"

No answer is answer enough, and when he shoves back the curtain, he fast realizes a return to the soft, silver-plattered safety of civilization has already begun to strip away the constant vigilance he'd acquired over the past year, to the point that even this simple sight is grounds for shock.

"Jesus, Logan, hey, hey, no, c'mere - "

But then again, there's really no way to ever prepare for the sight of Logan, tiny little Logan, curled in on himself, arms wrapped around his middle, head hung low and shoulders slumping as he rests back against the shower wall, face contorted in a wreck of silent tears.

James climbs over the ledge of the tub and steps in, jeans and t-shirt and all, moving until he's got his arms around him, not trying to pull or maneuver him, just adjusting until he's made himself part of Logan's space. It takes a moment before Logan even seems to notice; before stiff resistance melts into surrender and he allows his body to release, for James to hold him up, tight and protective against him. Logan's shaking and James can feel his tears separately from the stream of the shower, can feel Logan's skin hot and slippery and smooth beneath his hands, and if this were any other moment he might let himself notice it. Might let himself feel the accidental press of Logan's dick against his jean-clad hip, or the soft curve of his spine as James rubs a soothing rhythm up and down his back.

But it isn't any other moment; it's this one, and all James lets himself notice is the way Logan goes limp in his arms, the way his breaths start to slow as James whispers, "Shh, you're safe. You're safe."

And that's how Kendall and Carlos find them, slipping into an uncanny role reversal as Kendall's voice escapes him, his body freezing into place against the open bathroom door while Carlos opts for the freak-out.

"What happened?" he asks, his shirt already over his head as he starts work on his fly. "Logan? James, what - "

James turns to him and shakes his head slowly, and he doesn't know what that's supposed to mean, but somehow he knows Carlos will.

Stripped down to his boxers, Carlos climbs into the tub and James steps aside to let Carlos take his spot. He knows his place when it comes CarlosandLogan - or at least he'd thought he did, but Carlos seems to have other ideas because he's reaching one arm behind him to grope blindly for James until he finds his arm and tugs. James scoots forward until he's pressed against Carlos's back, arms reaching around to snake one across his chest and the other hand closing soft around Logan's arm.

When James turns his head to rest his cheek on Carlos's shoulder, his eyes meet Kendall's. The rush of the water had drowned out his heartbeat but it comes back full force when he sees how lost Kendall looks, like he wants so badly to move but he doesn't know where to start or where he'd end up.

"Kendall," Logan whimpers suddenly, still tight in Carlos's arms, eyes shut against the water. "Where's Kendall, I want Kendall."

Seems it's enough of a wake-up call for Kendall as he strips at lightning speed and scampers to the other end of the shower, wiggling past the curtain and slipping in behind Logan. His arms go around him like they were designed for no other purpose in the world, and when James hears him whisper, "I'm here, baby, I'm here," something in his own chest releases, and for the first time since his eyes landed on Jack's boat, everything feels right again.

Okay, maybe not everything. Maybe just this.

But maybe this is enough.

Logan's a little weirded out by how clean everyone smells.

Nobody smells like themselves, just shampoo and soap and hotel, and it's kind of overwhelming with all of them squashed together between crisp hotel sheets, which they shove off after about two and a half minutes.

But maybe Logan's just fishing for a reason why none of them can seem to fall asleep.

When Kendall switches positions for the third time, James asks quietly in the dark, "Do you want to sing?"

There's silence for too long, and Logan's almost scared Kendall's going to come back with some declaration that he never wants to sing again, until a soft shell of his voice begins to emerge.

"I can show you the world..."

James graciously fills in the harmony and Logan doesn't even realize the tears have started to snake down his cheeks until Carlos squeezes his hand.

Three a.m. and they've made progress, at least in theory: the door to the balcony's open and somewhere far off might be the sound of the ocean, but no one can be sure and the air still smells like starchy sterility, not salt and water and sand. Logan's lungs feel stuffy, constricted, like none of this air is quite real enough, quite worth breathing.

He sighs and Carlos says, "I have an idea."

The hard part is charming the lobby staff to let them take the bedspread outside, but once they're down on the beach, choosing a spot is as easy as breathing used to be.

It's not perfect. There's no dying fire, no low-hanging palm branches to canopy them, no lingering aromas of dinner; the air smells more like fake coconut sunscreen than actual coconuts, but it's enough to launch them into a sleep deep enough not to hear Gustavo's panicked freak-out come morning until he's shaking them gently awake.

Kendall's been keeping a margincally stalkerish mental record of what phone calls have gone out and to whom.

Gustavo notified the girlfriends on day one, and Kendall 's trying not to infuse meaning into the fact that the two of his bandmates (feels funny to call them that, now, a term littered with boundaries and imposed limitations) with girlfieinds wait until they've set foot in the airport to make the inaugural calls themselves.

Carlos is first, crossing to the other side of the terminal with Gustavo's cell, all eyes on him watching for body language that will make up for words - but he's largely motionless. He stays frozen, arm against a wall and forehead pressed to the arm, eyes closed. His lips don't move as much as Kendall would've expected, and when he returns, he doesn't offer anything but the phone, which James accepts with averted eyes, having avoided calling Jett's mom until now.

When James finishes and starts back toward them, Kendall feels Logan grip his hand tight enough to cut off circulation for, like, the rest of his life, and he tells himself, swears to himself he won't look up, won't dare to see Logan's face, not when Kendall's this scared, but Logan sits there staring at him, phone in hand until Kendall has no choice.

When their eyes meet, he realizes Logan was waiting for permission.

He swallows and blinks and nods once and hopes that's enough, because he's afraid if he tries to do anything else something vital inside him will shatter.

"Ken," James says softly as they watch Logan walk away. He waits for Kendall to look at him before he continues, "We're going home."

Kendall nods, slowly, like a question.

"I." James takes a breath but it's wrecked and shaky, only serving to highlight his nerves. "Um. For me that's New York."

Whatever it was shatters.

"I - it's - it's just for now, I can come out there in a few days, okay? I just, my family - I mean, my parents and - "

For some reason Kendall thinks to look to Carlos, because Carlos always fixes things, but Carlos has got his head down and his hands folded in his lap and holy shit, he knew. He totally fucking knew.

"Dude, hey, look at me, come on..." James is pleading with him but Kendall must look the way he feels or worse because when his eyes meet James's, James's face fucking breaks. "Kendall, I swear, this isn't - I'll see you really fucking soon, okay?"

Kendall nods to the ground but he's on autopilot now; he has to be. If he lets his mind turn gears on its own it'll be screaming It's over, it's over until the rest of him breaks, piece by piece until there are too many to put back together.

James looks like he's going to say more, until their eyes suddenly follow the same line across the room to Logan, who's sliding down the wall until he hits the floor, knees folded to his chest and his free hand swiping angrily at tears. Of all the heartbreaking sights Kendall's witnessed in the past year, this might easily top the list.

James squeezes his hand and Kendall's not sure if it's for comfort or to keep him from bolting, but it works for the latter at least and when Logan gets back, he stands in front of them like he's not quite awake - alive, even - until a jerk of his head asks Kendall to follow him.

Logan crowds them into a corner behind a row of pay phones and tangles both hands around Kendall's until Kendall looks him in the eye.

He forces three breaths (Kendall counts) and says, "I'm going to New York."

But this - this push is too hard, right over the edge and Kendall's turning his head to the side as far as it'll go to hide the way his face contorts as the tears start to sting his eyes. He wants to bolt, to disappear - hell, in this moment even to die, which is the worst of all after spending the past year of his life trying everything to stay alive - but Logan's a step ahead of him.

"Ken - Ken, no, listen to me, no." He cups Kendall 's chin with one hand, pulling him back until their eyes lock. "No, I'm not - just for a day or two, okay? I'm not - she said it's really important that I come see her, I - Ken, I owe her that much, don't I?"

Kendall doesn't answer, mostly because he can't say no.

"Hey." Logan's eyes are dead set on his, daring him to look away. "I need to do this. Just a couple days. Are you with me?"

Kendall moves to brush at some tears but Logan beats him to it, thumb moving gently across Kendall 's face to catch the drops. Kendall swallows hard and says, "I'm scared."

Logan just shakes his head. "No. No. I'm yours. Always. This wasn't a dream, okay? This is for real. Us. Got it?"

Kendall nods because he has to, and then Logan's kissing him, hard and wet and tear-salty, up against the wall of pay phones with no concern for who sees, slipping I-love-you's into Kendall's mouth every time they separate, and somewhere underneath the fear, Kendall finds the strength to say it back.

The guards staunchly refuse to allow their spears one inch past security and Kendall very nearly gets himself arrested in attempt to express his disapproval of this rule, until Gustavo steps in and works out a way to have them shipped.

When Kendall catches the eyes of the other three, it's more than clear they know this has little to do with airline policy.

The goodbyes are mechanical.

Their last stop as a unit is Atlanta, and apparently the trip has allowed Kendall sufficient enough exposure to civilization that he's reacquired the ability to pretend.

He hugs James big and thorough as he would at the end of tour, no more, no less, but James isn't having it, won't let him go until the four of them are tangled together in a group hug to end all group hugs. Kendall feels someone's tears drop onto his shoulder but he doesn't know whose, only that they're not his.

He can't. He can't. He won't.

He's still repeating it in Logan's terminal, Delta 1220, one-way, Hartsfield-Jackson to LaGuardia; still repeating it as Carlos yanks Logan into his arms and whispers threats of a self-induced apocalypse if Logan isn't home within seventy-two hours. They stay like that for ten minutes, unmoving and unspeaking, and Kendall thinks he'll use the time to prepare himself, but when they separate and Logan turns to him, he knows there's no preparing for this.

Logan backs him up against a wall, takes his hands, presses their bodies together knee to forehead, and whispers, "Tell me you love me."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"Always?"

Logan nods. "And then some."

They watch his plane take off and wait until it's a dot and then nothing. When Kendall hangs his head he can smell Logan on his shirt, and if it weren't for Carlos's hand clutching his like their lives depend on it (don't they?), he wouldn't remember to breathe.

Everything's the same.

James's family, their house, the angle of the sofa, the photos on the walls, Dylan and Clover and their ragged, half-eaten stuffed octopus. The same cars are parked on the street, even Mr. Finnerman's beat-up Corolla he keeps swearing he'll ditch for the new Prius.

His mom's smile is the same too, not that he's seen much of it so far; and the way she fits into his arms when she cries.

He turns a 360 in the middle of the living room and says, "Everything's the same."

Slowly, she nods. "Everything but you."

Logan's equally impressed and terrified to find his nerves in check the whole length of the flight. He thinks maybe he's grown, spent the year building up the kind of confidence he has no business trying to manage - the solid, mature, ego-free kind.

Truth is, he's just as numb and lost as the others, and for someone who defines himself by his ability to retain enough self-awareness to put his being into words, that's the last thing he wants to admit.

But when the captain informs him they'll be on the runway in fifteen and it's a warm, pleasant evening tonight in the Big Apple, Logan's heart starts pounding out a rhythm hard and fast enough to put Carlos out of a job.

He's counting on those few minutes in the crowd to escape into his head and collect himself, but she's not hard to spot, hair curly as ever and wearing the lavender sweater Logan had given her on their first Christmas.

What impacts him the most is not the moment itself, but the stunning realization that for all the million ways he's changed, the world is, impossibly, much the same as he'd left it.

Their eyes meet, as they inevitably must, and Logan suspects she catches sight of him so easily because he's the only one in the crowd not moving. The hoards push past him, jostling him as they disperse on mad dashes to the luggage carousels, but he stays planted to the spot until there's nothing between them but open space.

They meet in the middle, and when they're close enough that he can smell her perfume (twenty-first birthday gift), only then does she crack a smile. It's no smile he's ever seen on her, scared and unsure of herself and her world - the quintessential antithesis to the Camille he knows. Knew.

Somehow he smiles, maybe, just a little, and she says, "I never thought I'd see you tan."

He smiles for real then, surprised at how easy it is, and she smiles back and then they're lunging forward into the biggest bear hug Logan's ever gotten from a girl; they're a Camille trademark, and it's clear she's had plenty of practice since the last time they saw each other.

The golden moment is just that, a moment, and she's crying before they even pull apart. She's smiling through it though, laughing even as she swipes at the tears, and that's what drew him to her in the first place, the way she can turn anything around, bad to good and scary to manageable. Logan wants to tell her that, tell her how much she's meant to him, how she was never anything but so good for him, but all that comes out is, "You look really, really great."

She half-laughs. "You're sweet. I'm about ten pounds heavier and I haven't had a haircut in like, six months."

"But you look amazing," Logan insists, because it's true, she looks radiant and beautiful, even more than he remembered, and she deserves to know it.

She smiles. "And you look like a man, Logan Mitchell, what's that about?" A hand (soft, small, delicate, not Kendall s-Carlos's-James's), comes up to brush across the soft stubble on his face.

He takes her hand in his, lifting it gently away, because it's not right, now, they're not there anymore, but he doesn't know how to say it: there may be plenty he can't put into lyrics, but this he can't even put into words.

But there must be something in his eyes, something bigger than words, because when he tries to hold her hand all the way to the parking lot, she pulls away casually under the premise of carrying his smaller bag, the one that's "seriously, Logan, gayest bag ever, this looks like something out of Anne of Green Gables."

They share another smile, real as ever, but Logan knows better, and it would be a dishonor to underestimate her.

She knows.

It's easy to keep it up in the car, slipping right back into where they left off, the jokes, the easy banter, but stepping into her apartment is... more than a step over a threshold. And they try, they both do, but sitting opposite one another on the sofa they've had sex on more times than Logan can count is enough to shift the mood and, eventually, the conversation.

"Um." Camille tucks her legs a little further underneath her on the couch, bites her lip before she meets his eyes. "Gustavo, he, uh. When the government stopped funding search and rescue, he started his own. For about six months. They went to hundreds of islands."

Logan nods, staring down at his hands. "He told me."

"Did he tell you he ended up selling his house to pay for them?"

Logan's head jerks up. "I. No... he didn't."

She looks down at her knees, folding out a wrinkle in her jeans. "He really, really loves you guys."

It's transparent, but Logan knows not everyone can mask themselves the way he does. In fact, that's what he always loved best about her - her honesty.

"Cams, I - I..." I don't know how to say this and not make it sound like a Lifetime movie, that's what. "I'm... different. Now. I... I've changed."

She nods with an absent sort of resignation: this, it's clear, is not a surprise to her. "I know. I mean... yeah. A place like that's bound to change anyone."

"I... I don't think - it's not the island that changed us," he starts slowly, because maybe this is news to him too. "I think... I think we changed each other."

Her eyes study him for a long time, with the same look she used to get when he'd talk about his father. Like she wasn't quite sure what to say, because she was waiting for him to figure it out himself, always trusting that he would. And always, he did.

But figuring something out doesn't always make it easier to digest. Sometimes, it just stirs up the chaos until, for all the things you've figured out, now there's a hundred more you haven't.

He takes her hand when he feels the tears prickling at his eyes. "I - Monkey, I'm sorry - I'm so fucking - "

"Now you listen here." She squeezes his hand, swiping the other across the wet streaks on her face. "Never apologize for falling in love, got it?"

He freezes, tears and chaos long forgotten. "I - how - "

She cracks a smile, and it doesn't reach her eyes, but it's real. "My hair's not blonde, y'know. I'm not a complete dumbass."

He smiles back, and thinks maybe he can live without any more golden moments, if they can just stay here, in this, despite the chaos, even with it.

"There's... something, though," she says through the silence. "There's something I need to tell you."

Kendall's arm itches where the needle sank in the morning before. The bruise is mostly evaporated but he rubs his fingers over the spot just below the sleeve of his t-shirt. He remembers Logan passing out after they drew his blood, and Carlos insisting on James helping him draw an elaborate mustache above Logan's lips before they let Kendall "revive" him. Something shoots painfully through his chest now that has nothing to do with needles.

The doctor had said they were clean as a whistle, healthy and free of native diseases, ready to go home.

Kendall doesn't doubt the healthy. It's the ready part he's not so sure about.

Carlos stops being Carlos for the whole flight. He lets Kendall sleep on him, or try to sleep, and he tosses peanuts for Kendall to catch when he asks. He spends an hour with his head in Kendall's lap like a puppy, cheek soft against his thigh, fingers playing with the hem of Kendall's shirt, and when he looks up and asks, "I'll still see you later tonight, right?" Kendall thinks he's never seen him so scared, like he's afraid Kendall might actually say no.

From the gate to baggage claim - two shuttles, a moving sidewalk, and three escalators - they hold hands like it's nothing. Carlos throws an unopened bag of peanuts with impressive aim at some dude who calls them fags, adding "Everyone loves nuts, sweetheart!" and Kendall laughs so hard he drops his suitcase. It's enough to kill the tension until he spots his mother's face in the crowd, and feels his brain shut down on the spot, leaving nothing but an abandoned pile of nerves in its wake.

Ten people throw themselves at him, hugging him to their chests like he needs to be protected, kept safe, and he loves them but he doesn't know how to tell them he's been safe all along, with Carlos, with all of them. Ten batches of tears pool on the shoulder of his t-shirt, but he doesn't feel his own threatening to spill until Carlos's hand is wrenched from his in the commotion.

He embraces them all, holds them tight, and the tears do come, eventually, when the walls break, but it's Carlos he holds onto longest before the families separate in the parking lot; Carlos he buries his face into, whispering promises of "Tonight, tonight," and wondering why he feels more trapped inside the car than he ever did on the island.


	19. Chapter 19

It sounds cliched, maybe, but he can't help feeling he's literally sitting on the threshold between his past and present - but what's between the past and the present? There's no in-between; anything that's existed outside of this moment is past, and then there's now. Nothing between.

Maybe that's why Carlos feels so trapped.

Even in the dark he can see across the yard, the black streak over the power box where their fireworks had gone awry; the dent in the garage door from that Saturday his dad taught him and Logan to ride bikes for real, training wheels ditched and forgotten. And still, still (he laughs), hooked into the top of the tree by Carlos's old bedroom window - Logan's sock, from that night the air was too warm to leave windows closed and their hands too eager for each other's skin, tossing clothes as quickly as they were shed, with no concern for where they landed or if they'd ever be found again.

Those were the nights Carlos thought he could stay there with Logan forever, never needing clothes or anything but Logan's mouth hot and sweet against his, lost in the way his name sounded on Logan's lips.

He tears his eyes from all triggers, anything that might remind of what was and isn't, and stares up at the sky.

Turns out that's the worst move of all, because for the first time in almost a year, the sky is empty.

If Logan were here he might try to infuse some symbolism into it, so Carlos tries to do it himself to make up for the absence. But the sick, crushing reality of it weighs down on his chest until he can't really think much beyond what's right in front of him: a nauseating, purplish brown-black, clouded and starless and heavy, nothing like the light, airy midnight blue of the island sky (the past), stars twinkling high and proud. Free.

He hears the front door open behind him and a brief gust of voices from inside sweeps through, caught in animated conversation as his family always seems to be. He remembers how he and Logan hid in it, unnoticed in their mutual silence as they'd watch each other across the dinner table, smiling softly. Knowing.

It was how they'd first learned to speak without words.

The door shuts and the voices disappear again into a muted lull as Stephanie (the present) crouches down, wedging herself onto the front step beside him. He looks over at her and tries to smile.

"Needed some air."

She nods, fishing into her pocket and emerging with a half-empty pack of cigarettes. "How 'bout some nicotine-flavored air?"

He smiles for real at that, and so does she. Neither of them really smoke, and it's been a long-ass time since they've shared an Emergency Cigarette, but it's one of those bits from the past that Carlos can't remember any way but fondly.

The first drag is foreign and thick in his lungs, and he splutters a bit, but it sends the calming rush through his veins just like he needs. Still, his hand's trembling as he automatically flips his new cell between his hands for the thousandth time that evening, like maybe somehow he missed the beep of a text, even though it's on ring and vibrate both and hasn't left his pocket since he left Verizon.

Logan's text still scrolls across his brain: landed. i miss your skin like the sunsets (except you're more beautiful)

James's: why does it feel like ur as far away as home? ily

Kendall's: soon?

When he looks back up, she's staring at the phone in his hands, not quick enough to turn away before he sees. He offers her the cigarette, and when she accepts, he wonders why he doesn't feel anything more than the simple physicality of the contact when their fingers brush.

She stares out at the darkness, the outlines of memory triggers throughout the yard, and he wonders how much she knows.

"So," he starts, "I can't believe Obama's still president."

She looks up and smiles. "Pretty sweet, huh?"

"It's awesome." He takes the cigarette back, losing himself in a deep inhale. "What else did I miss, is gay marriage legal now?"

Stephanie quirks an eyebrow. "Why, you planning on having one?"

But her eyes are smiling when they meet his, and maybe not quite as bright as he remembers, but he's grateful even for this. He's going to say more, he really is; she's good at comebacks, like him, and he can't resist trying to give her a run for her money, but when he opens his mouth, all that comes out is, "And Gustavo has a fucking kid, Jesus."

She smiles. "He's gorgeous. You've gotta meet him."

"Yeah."

Her head drops, eyes turned to the ground as she nods absently. "Yeah."

He's not used to silences like this, where he's not free to touch, or speak through his eyes, and his nerves have him flipping his cell again, without even thinking.

She sighs.

"Shit, I'm sor- "

"Go on."

He blinks. "What?"

She sighs again, but this time it's more resignation than disappointment. "Go. Go be with him."

"I..." And he doesn't know why it's so hard to find a reason to argue against it, because this is where he should be. This is where his happiness should reside, here with his family, with the people who share his DNA and the woman who shares (shared) all his secrets.

Shouldn't it?

"I - " he starts again. "Stephanie."

"Carlos."

"I'm - "

"No." Her eyes are dark when he finds it in himself to meet them. "I'm not letting you tie yourself down to the past, not for my sake."

He stares at her a long time, because they used to do this, a little, the way he and Logan could talk with their eyes. They managed a bit of it, and maybe he can channel it now, now that it actually matters. But the longer he stares, the only thing he sees are the tears that start to spill over, down that beautiful face he's touched so many times he can almost feel it under his fingertips now.

"But we worked so hard for this," he tells her, marveling at the desperation in his voice, at how much he wants to convince himself he did everything he could, that he didn't just give up, give in. That he's not throwing away five years for a glitch of emotions spawned by extreme circumstance; that he tried.

She nods. "And we got everything we worked for. Every day. I don't regret one fucking day with you, not one."

It hurts to feel his own tears then, because this is the first time they've surfaced.

"I don't either," he whispers.

And when he hugs her it makes sense, everything she said: that changes to the present don't erase the past. That there's more to it all than the end result.

That maybe we write our own futures; maybe he's been writing his all along: he just has to follow through.

"More quiche, honey? ...Kendall?"

Kendall's head jerks up, his eyes fuzzy from the daydream blur they'd settled into, gazing emptily at the china cabinet across the room, hand clutched tight around his cell phone. The voices buzzing around the table form a haze thick enough for his ears to tune it out entirely.

He blinks. "Um. No, thanks, I'm okay."

"Are you sure? It's your favorite!"

It makes him twitchy and unsettled every time someone keeps talking about things in the present tense, like nothing's changed.

Your room is all ready; I know you won't want to go back to your house right now. Not his room anymore. Not even his house. KendallandGuitarDude's, but never Kendall's.

I bought those butter cookies you love so much, sweetie. Loved. Can't remember how they taste, now.

And the guilt falls heavy, blanketing him, smothering, because he knows how much they care, how sincere they are, how hard they're trying.

"I know. It's fantastic, Mom. Thanks."

She squeezes his shoulders before clearing his plate, her face glowing and alight like he hasn't seen since the moment she saw him on a stage for the first time.

"I'm gonna go get some fresh air," he tells no one in particular.

"Want any company?" Katie asks.

Their eyes meet and he can tell, if anyone might begin to understand, it would be her; but something makes him think he'd rather wallow in his confusion without an audience this time.

He smiles and shakes his head, heading out to the back porch and wishing there were something in his hand besides a cell phone to keep his hands occupied - something, maybe, a little more alcohol-based.

He turns on his phone and imagines, hopes, the others are doing the same, but he can picture the commotion going on in their homes. Five-hour conversations with Camille; classic. James has probably been accosted by his entire extended family and the rest of New York; and Carlos, well, Carlos has the best family in the universe (and a girlfriend, can't forget the girlfriends - no matter how hard Kendall tries); he won't be needing anything else.

He scrolls through his texts, even though they've been long since memorized.

always. Logan.

im like a shooting star, ive come so far, i cant go back to where i used to be. miss u like oxygen. James. Kendall won't lie; he cried, hiding in the upstairs bathroom down the hall from his old bedroom, praying no one would come looking for him.

the mags are startiing to riot for intevriews. im holding them off. rocque recs is in a frenzy. dont even know how they know. ignore them wehn they call. jeez theyre like god only w/ less power and more fans. ily. Gustavo.

soon. Carlos.

'Soon' was over an hour ago, and he knows it's wrong to expect this. To think Carlos would rather be with him than his family. They agreed, sure; Carlos had practically begged, but things change in absence. Promises fade and priorities shift.

Out of sight, out of mind?

His finger's poised to dial, desperate, when the glass French doors behind him swing open and shut, and Katie plants herself on the wooden deck stairs beside him.

"Hey," Kendall smiles.

"Hi." She looks down at his cell. "You look really sad."

It's harder to keep smiling then, but something about his younger sister always makes it impossible for him to dwell too selfishly in his own head. "I'm fine."

"You miss your friends, don't you?"

"I..." But really, there's something fundamentally wrong about lying to someone who is finally back in his life. "Yeah, I do."

"More than you missed us?"

He meets her eyes, like that's going to lessen the blow to his chest, but what he sees aren't the eyes he remembers, aglow with childish innocence. They're his mother's eyes, big and deep-brown like Logan's, looking into his like they're seeing so much more than just their reflection.

Kendall curls an arm around her tiny shoulders. "Sweetie, I think I missed you most of all."

He can tell she's smiling, because she's amazing that way; Katie smiles with her whole body, and he can feel it when she leans against him, resting her head on his shoulder - or, his upper arm, as she's not quite tall enough to reach - and just that, the complete, unabashed affection of his sister, knowing she holds every confidence in him, is enough to steal his mind from the others, even if briefly.

She snuggles closer. "I miss Guitar Dude."

Oh, god.

"Me too."

"Are you still gonna adopt a kid?"

Kendall's throat closes up a bit then, because that isn't something he's thought about since... since Guitar Dude wasn't here anymore. It was easy, once he was alone, on the island, to let all his priorities rearrange themselves in order to preserve his sanity; but now it's all flooding back like it was just waiting for the trigger of someone's innocent mention, and every conversation he and Guitar Dude ever had on the matter pours through his mind at once, every word, every smile they'd shared walking down the street and seeing a child with their parent; every smile that said, us, soon.

He tries to swallow. "I don't know."

Katie considers this for a moment before turning to him with bright eyes. "You can adopt me."

Kendall finds it in himself, somewhere, to smile. "Don't you think mom and dad would mind?"

"Oh, we don't have to tell them. It'll be a secret."

Kendall promptly decides this is the peak opportune time to tickle her until she giggles loud enough to wake the dead and then yell that she's too old for this to be happening- or at least enough to drown out the jingle of Carlos's text until Kendall thinks to check it, nearly half an hour later.

meet me at Logan's house?

The fact that Carlos's mom still has a key to Logan's house isn't nearly as strange as standing at its front door, seeing Carlos's car in the driveway just like before, like they're gathered for a writing jam, or one of Logan's legendary how-high-can-we-get-and-still-form-complete-senten ces? parties, or even just movie night, with Carlos and Logan on the floor arguing over the blanket, and Kendall and Guitar Dude monopolizing the couch, tangled together with no need for blankets.

It feels strange knocking for the first time; his own key was lost in the crash, the one he'd had since the day Logan moved in. Kendall remembers the rush of closing his fist around the small, jagged piece of metal, forcing himself not to pretend it would be both their names on the mailbox.

_"What's this?"_

_"It's a key, dumbass."_

_"Really? Jeez; glad we cleared that up. I was gonna guess, sadistic butt plug? God, that woulda sucked."_

_Logan does that thing where he's trying so, so hard not to smile. It mostly kind of makes him look constipated._

_Kendall grins. "Did you just give me a key to your house?"_

_Logan does that thing where he's trying to pretend he doesn't care, just shrugs stiffly, hunching his shoulders. It mostly kind of makes him look eighty._

_"Don't want you banging on my door at four in the fucking morning when you're too drunk to get home. Figure it's easier this way."_

_Kendall leans in, kisses him on the cheek, and instead of recoiling, Logan leans into it, only stopping to flip off Carlos's sickly-sweet "Awww."_

_Kendall whispers, "Love you," and Logan can't say it back, not now, not like this, Kendall knows that, but it's okay because Logan smiles secretly at the floor and it's better than the words._

When Carlos swings open the door, it almost feels normal. He doesn't launch himself at Kendall or yank him forward, just pulls the door open wide enough for Kendall to step in.

He's braced himself for the assault on his senses: the housekeeper's been here throughout the year, still, but the house smells stuffy, stale and unused. But preparation doesn't make it any easier, and he finds himself fighting hard to catch any hint of familiarity, all the little bundles of aromas that collect in Kendall's mind under the label of Logan: his laundry detergent and ridiculous Bath & Body Works hand soaps; his cologne and shampoo and the smell of all his books, his notebooks, the leather furnishings in the living room and the extravagant collection of classic guitars Kendall never misses the chance to mock and, secretly, envy.

Mostly, now, it just smells like isolation.

He finishes absorbing the room, even though it feels more like it's absorbing him, and turns to Carlos. "So, I - "

Words don't come so easily then, finding the shoulder of Carlos's t-shirt in his mouth, Carlos's arms coiled tight around him, squeezing the oxygen from his lungs, but Carlos smells so much like Carlos that Kendall feels like it's the first time he's been able to breathe since he left the airport.

"My turn."

"Okay."

Carlos purses his lips while he thinks, settling further into the cottony plush of Logan's bedcovers (always five times as thick and eight times as soft as any normal bedding, to compensate for Logan's pointy edges and hard personality). "First... wet dream."

Kendall chokes on his grape, but a smile breaks through, and it's the first. "Mm. No way."

"Yes."

"Hate you, Garcia."

"Come on, spill."

There's a half second pause while they both register his word choice before dissolving into snorty little giggles that scarcely make it through past their exhaustion.

"Okay, fine, Jonathan Taylor Thomas. I was eleven."

Carlos's eyes squeeze shut and his mouth drops open, but there's no sound, just the tremble of his body as he launches into silent laughter, dropping the bowl of grapes and struggling to catch his breath before he spits out, "Oh my god, you loser."

"Hate you," Kendall reiterates, snatching a pillow and yanking it tight down over his head. "You?" he asks through the inches of fluff.

"Logan. I was twelve."

The words strike Kendall harder than the rush of fresh air on his face when he removes the pillow, but it's the look in Carlos's eyes that hits home. It's that slight, reluctant fear Kendall knows better than he'd like from years of his own repression, mingled with the relentless, pulsing need to confess.

He pushes the pillow back under his head and says, "Are you in love with him?"

Carlos shrugs awkwardly, eyes still seeking out any acceptance Kendall might offer. "Aren't we all?"

"I - " And. Oh. "I just - I thought. James."

Carlos cracks a smile, a trail of his confidence slipping back into place. "What, I'm only allowed to be in love with one person?"

It's mostly rhetorical, and Kendall knows it on some level, but he can't stop the slow, side-to-side shake of his head, eyes wide and locked, and somewhere in the back of his mind it reminds him of that moment in The Sound of Music when the Captain tells Maria you can't marry someone if you're in love with someone else... can you? And she looks at him, and there's no need to respond, but she slowly shakes her head. Like a validation to herself, that the words were really spoken. That it was real.

He's so lost in it, as she was, that it takes him a moment to realize there's something in Carlos's eyes that hints at more than Logan. More than James, even. His eyes don't look like they're searching anymore; but rather like they've found.

Kendall swallows, and Carlos closes his eyes.

It's easier to scoot a little closer once Kendall closes his own, like he doesn't have to ask if he can't see the answer, but when he settles against Carlos's side, Carlos just throws an arm around him and tugs him closer.

Behind them, from the stereo atop the bedroom fireplace mantle, the last acoustic tracks of Gustavo's new album spill through the speakers. Kendall can still feel the sticky trails of dried tears on his cheeks from mid-album, and Gustavo's text telling them track eight was "about you guys. somewehre under the words, hidden in a stupid band's voices in ways only we'll ever know & never say, its all you.

The last number rings through, soft, only an echo of its heavily produced origins in track eight: just some new band member and his guitar, his voice open and undoctored and organic, perfect, a quality on which Kendall has long since given up wasting jealous energy, because just hearing it makes it damn near impossible to dwell on anything but the sound, the passion in his tone, the way he elevates notes anyone else would destroy.

Kendall's wrapped tightly enough in the music that he barely notices Carlos pulling at his arm until he's already halfway off the bed, and only then do his eyes blink open.

"What - "

"I've wanted to do this," Carlos announces unceremoniously, dragging Kendall to his feet, "since that time I caught you in the basement before practice, blasting your big gay showtunes and twirling around the room with an invisible partner."

A swift rush of heat pools into Kendall's cheeks. "You - you saw that?"

Carlos just smirks, and there's still a world of worry plastered across his face, his features tense and weary, but his eyes are shining as he slips their bodies into the proper positions, and maybe, maybe this is all they need, a distraction, an unknown kid's voice, and Logan's surroundings, and each other, both dressed in t-shirts stolen from James. It's home enough.

Kendall's limbs are rubbery and tired, enough to easily let himself be manhandled, but he isn't above protest. "Why do I always have to be the chick?"

Carlos pulls him closer, resting their foreheads together, and smiles gently. "Bitch, please."

For Kendall it's kind of a collision of reactions, then, each fighting for dominance: the sheer madness of hearing Carlos actually say the words his face has spoken forever and a day; and suddenly realizing what he's doing. It's not just exhaustion clouding their senses, thrusting them into each other's arms: it's conscious, what Carlos's doing, leading them into a distraction deep enough to keep them breathing, to draw their minds from Logan and James, from the ache in their chests at the separation, from all the twenty-eight crippling fears that this is as together as they'll ever be again. To convince them both, or at least try, that whatever they'd become isn't lost. It's still here, in the tiny sliver of air buzzing between their bodies; in the hot spots of contact where their hands touch, where Kendall's other rests on Carlos's shoulder; and Carlos's at Kendall's hip. Everywhere they touch, every shuffled step of their feet, says we haven't lost.

"In my defense," Kendall whispers against Carlos's cheek, "first time I saw you from behind I thought you were a girl."

Carlos pinches his hip. "That's not a defense, dumbass."

"Shut up. I'm sure it was nicer than your first impression of me, at least."

There's a long silence, enough to prove Kendall embarrassingly right, before Carlos finally leans in, close enough to Kendall's ear that their eyes can't meet. "The first time I saw you, I wanted to kiss you."

So much for keeping them breathing.

Kendall pulls back then because this, this he has to see, Carlos flustered and embarrassed, but the sight is greater than he'd imagined. He's blushing like a chick, totally, and Kendall's almost tempted to reiterate his first impression and claim a real defense, but Carlos looks so desperate to not get shoved away that Kendall's heart wins, keeping him silent.

Instead, he smiles.

It takes them long, long, so long to get close, to get to the point of their noses bumping and their mouths open, sharing breaths but not touching, not yet, and though Carlos's the first to ghost their lips together, he's also the first to stop.

"Should we, uh." He swallows hard enough that Kendall can almost feel it, and, okay, whoa. "Uh, like, wait?"

Kendall doesn't know why it makes sense but it does, it does, and he nods.

He whispers, "Why isn't this weird?"

"Because we're not afraid of it," Carlos says. "We're only afraid of losing it."

By two a.m., they're still awake, eyes open but aching for relief, but nothing can pull them into unconsciousness, not even when they drag the bedspread out to the yard and curl up atop the squishy grass, the stars their only blanket.

By two-fifteen, Logan's text rings through: can't sleep.

Two-thirty, James's. you guys awake?

They set up a three-way and stay on the phone till four-fifteen on speaker, till their batteries and voices run out.

They talk about the band, the best pranks on tour, the best tourmates, the best memories, the worst, the hardest, and craziest, and the awesomely epic loserdom of the still-active Neopets website.

They don't talk about now, and no one asks.

Kendall knows if they were here, he could tell them with his eyes, or maybe other parts of his body. But they're not, and he can't, and at four-thirty, he cries until after sunrise, and Carlos holds him until he's asleep. It's fitful, transparent and light, only lasting an hour or two, but it's relief. He dreams about smiles and sand and someone's face, someone tiny and young, someone he doesn't know, but who looks like Logan and feels like home, and Kendall falls in love all over again.

"And the time with the Cheetos - "

"Oh my god - " Beau doubles over on the sofa, his torso curling over his folded knees, the beer in his hand wobbling ominously. "Was the bet to see how many he could stick up his nose, or...?"

"Yeah, but like, they got shoved so far in he forgot how many were up there."

"And we had to take him to the emergency room in like, fucking - "

"Wisconsin," James smiles. "Fucking epic."

Beau smiles back, tucking his legs underneath him. "You stayed with him behind that curtain all night."

James shrugs, sipping at his beer for something to do. "Dumbass needed someone to look after him."

He can feel Beau's cat-eyes on him, sharp but warm, in that omniscient feline way. "You always did."

He shrugs again, but it's weaker, his shoulders slumping low. "Not enough."

"Jamesy." Beau scoots forward until he can curl his long fingers softly around James's arm. "Look at me."

James really doesn't want to, because Beau's eyes are so intense, so easy to get lost in that he knows they'll distract him enough to make him forget his guilt. And hell, he's going to be emo here, he's earned it, and he doesn't want to forget his shortcomings, wants to stay convinced that it's still, somehow, his fault Jett's not here.

But he looks, because Beau always gets what he wants, and it's easier to give in than make him force it out of you.

Beau draws in a breath. "Kendall told me he's never seen anyone work so hard at anything the way you did trying to save Jett."

The words are lovely, kind, even more so in the gentle, softspoken sincerity of Beau's voice, but maybe that's just what makes James's eyes start prickling, hearing it put so beautifully, and with Kendall's testimony to boot; and knowing if Jettwere here, he'd punch James in the face for putting himself down like this, so hard for so long.

"Fuck, come here," Beau whispers when James starts crying in earnest, and it should feel ridiculous having Beau's frame wrapping around him, bony angles that aren't his bandmates' poking at him all over, but instead it just feels like the closest to home James's felt since he left his boys in Atlanta.

"This is fucking stupid," he mumbles into Beau's shirt, cringing preemptively at the words he knows are about to spill. "Why do I feel so alone?"

"Because your heart belongs to three kids in California, dumbass," Beau sighs, pulling back slightly. "Fucking go already."

"I... can't. Not yet. I'm trying to... fuck, I don't know, I'm. I have to make sure this is real. That it's not just... I don't know, that we didn't all lose it for ten months, because if that's it, and then we do this, it'll blow up in our faces, and I can't fucking take that. I can't fucking lose them."

Beau watches him long enough for James to know Beau's not just blurting out impulses, that he's truly considering his words, as he always does, rolling them over and over in his brain until they're this perfectly rounded ball of truth, because Beau can't bear to speak anything less than.

"You want to know if it's real?" he asks finally. "What's real is you're wearing Carlos's shirt, and every time you say his name, you smile. What's real is you spent a whole hour recounting the Epic Love Story of Kendall and Logan and your face glowed so bright the whole time, I thought you were fucking pregnant. What's real is you keep checking your damn phone every eight seconds, Jamesy, and you don't even realize it."

James doesn't really care that he's blushing, because it's all true, and where's the shame in truth?

"It's not that simple," he says to the sofa cushion.

"No," Beau agrees softly. "Nothing worth having ever is."

airtran 362, jfk to mccarran, arriving 10:02pm tonight. 3

Kendall's in the bathroom shaving and Carlos is in the kitchen making them cappuccinos (or trying to; Logan insisted on buying the fanciest fucking machine at some metrosexual specialty culinary store when the dumbass can barely work his own fucking microwave) and they collide in Logan's foyer, cell phones in hand, matching texts glowing across the screens, almost as bright as their matching smiles.

It's weird.

It's just. Carlos is not the writer here. The all balance each other out, see: Logan's the words; Kendall's the voice; James is the solid subtlety beneath everything, just shy of the spotlight, holding them together in ways no one would notice unless you're watching for it. And Carlos, he keeps them grounded, paced.

Words aren't him, and so all he can think is, it's weird.

He's waited for Logan a thousand times, right in this baggage claim, with the Cinnabon on one side and the newsstand on the other, and most of the time he'll buy a pretzel or a magazine because seriously, this is the most boring duty in the world, isn't it? It's not like Logan has ever been gone without them for more than a few days; it's not like much hardcore missing could've ever really had the chance to build. Half the time Kendall picks him up anyway. It's not like Carlos's heart pounded every time he was here, waiting, staring intently into the crowd knowing each person climbing the elevator had as much potential as the one before to suddenly stand out and be Logan. It's not like his breath caught in his chest, a smile he didn't even know about creeping onto his face, when Logan finally appeared, like a miracle, and met Carlos's eyes.

Right?

Standing here, now, is really not the moment Carlos would've chosen to have the epiphany that, actually, every time was just like this and he never noticed it.

Because really, isn't Logan a miracle? Isn't it just magic that he ever entered Carlos's life at all, stole his heart and his breath and stood at his side every day for a decade and a half?

So this, it all comes together and makes sudden, ridiculous sense about eight seconds before he actually spots him, and that makes it ten times better, crazier, and it feels like every time he's waited here is piling up and weighing down on him, smothering him in memories, and while all he wants to do is run forward, run and run and run until he and Logan collide, his feet won't fucking move.

Kendall makes up for it, leaping over stray luggage and shoving past people until he's literally in Logan's arms, exhaustion setting them both off balance as he wraps his legs around Logan's waist and kisses him square on the mouth, and Logan just lets him, pulls him closer, and it melts Carlos's heart (yeah, really: physically like liquid heat in his chest, so fuck metaphors) to see them so free like this, after so many years of stiff embraces and repressed emotion - to have taken the leap and made this one-eighty and lived to see the other side.

Their faces are both streaked with tears when they pull apart and Kendall's finally back on his feet. He hoists Logan's bags into his arms and lugs them back to Carlos, but Logan is slower, walking toward him in slow motion, which is a strange rhythm to pit against Carlos's racing heartbeat, and their eyes are locked but for the first time he can't seem to make sense of whatever conversation they're having. Either he's regressed or elevated himself above communication entirely, as all he can think is LoganLoganLogan, because in this moment, that's all there is to his world.

He's not expecting it, at all, but Logan wraps himself around Carlos and kisses him too, and there's some back-burner thought in Carlos's mind of Kendall?, but when they separate, Kendall's watching them both with a grin like he knows something. Oh fuck him, Carlos thinks with a smirk. He doesn't know shit. Except for how he does, he totally knows everything, and Carlos reaches out to tug him closer, to squash them all into a triangle of a hug, feeling two arms on his back, one Logan's and one Kendall's, and it's so, so close to perfect.

The bit that's holding it back sounds a lot like James.

He doesn't get a chance to think about it though, because Logan pulls back and he's looking between them, a little nervous, a little breathless, clinging to one each of their hands.

"So. Okay. Um. Okay."

"Home?" Kendall asks. "Like, now?"

"Hang on," Logan smiles. "I need to - okay, I'm. Right." He withdraws his hands to step back and run one through his hair, but he's still smiling. "I'm just - yeah, I'm just gonna say this, okay?"

"Oh, Christ," Carlos rolls his eyes. "Did you steal that baby squirrel you texted us about?"

Logan smiles. "I have a daughter."

And somehow, miraculously, people are still bustling around them, having lives and things to do, when clearly the world has come to a standstill, in a potentially incredible way if Carlos's ears (Logan's eyes) aren't lying to him.

Carlos squeaks. Oh yeah. He does, and Logan snorts a little in response, head ducked, his smile brighter than Carlos's ever seen it, but when he lifts his eyes, they're on Kendall, and Carlos follows, and it's a smart move because Kendall looks like someone just died.

"I - Ken." Logan grabs his hands, but Kendall gently pulls back, eyes darting between Logan and Carlos like it's a conspiracy.

"Congratulations," he whispers emptily.

And in that one word, he's easier to read that a large-print book, the terror scrawled across his face, the fear that this is it, he's lost Logan for good, because Logan would, totally, do the noble thing here and - oh, Jesus. Kendall.

"Kendall," Logan breathes, reaching forward and grabbing his hands again, and this time Kendall's too limp to protest. "You don't - I'm not - oh, god. No. I. Okay, I'm gonna start over, okay?"

Kendall nods shakily because he can't do anything else, and Carlos can't decide if he wants to hug him or strangle him, but fuck it, Logan can save this one.

Carlos can see Logan squeezing Kendall's hands, the white of their knuckles, and now Kendall's squeezing back, like a lifeline. Logan finally releases one of them, grabbing Carlos's hand instead, drawing him into their circle with his eyes before turning back to Kendall, a smile still playing at his lips.

"What I meant," he starts, drawing a strong, promising breath, "what I meant was - we have a daughter. All four of us."

He looks to Carlos for emphasis, and Carlos has to pretend James is here because, Jesus, James is here, even though he isn't.

The shock in Kendall's face hasn't left, but it's shifted, misery to something resembling elation - Carlos isn't sure because it's been awhile since he's seen that look on Kendall, but - no, definitely elation, because Kendall's got his hand over his mouth and he's crying and Logan's holding him and Kendall's holding him back, but there's a smile behind his hand, Carlos can tell - one that widens as Logan whispers desperately to him, and Carlos can't catch all of it, but he hears "You'll do this with me, right?" and Kendall's nodding like someone just gave him the world.

Someone pulls him into their embrace, Carlos couldn't tell you who, but he's not sure at this moment he could even tell you his own name.

He smiles big into Kendall's shoulder when he realizes he doesn't care about his own name at all: he just wants to know hers.

"And this one - this was her first smile," Logan explains, grinning as he hands over another four-by-six from the pile on his lap. "Cam said she was watching one of our live vids and she just cracked up."

Kendall looks like he's about to explode from his ear-to-ear grin, and he's been squealing like a girl every time Logan hands him a picture, but it's not like Carlos is one to judge; he's still grinning like an idiot from finding out Camille had named the baby after his mother - the closest thing to a mom Logan ever had.

"And this is her with the dog - she said the dog likes to sleep in Ginger's crib, like she's babysitting or something. Takes it really seriously."

Kendall sighs through his smile, leaning over onto Carlos's shoulder as he shares the photo. "She's perfect."

"She is," Carlos agrees, impressed with his coherent speech. "She's got your nose and eyes and - Logan, she's gorgeous."

Logan looks up. "Actually, I kinda think she looks like Kendall."

If faces could break from smiling, Kendall would be in some serious shit.

Logan smiles just as big, and it would almost be scary to think of him as a father because he looks closer to an eight-year-old on Christmas right now, but Carlos can see in his eyes that this means the world and then some to him: that he's going to take this as seriously and with as much passion as he does music.

"I can't wait for you guys to meet her," Logan gushes, and he's practically bouncing in the back seat of the cab. "She's amazing. And like, she actually likes me, like she let me hold her and I made her laugh and I put her down for a nap and we went out and I bought her this stuffed beagle and she loves it, right, oh and Camille said, y'know, custody's open, neither of us want to do anything through the courts, so, we can have her whenever we want."

Kendall stares at him, entranced. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. Like, when we're on tour she can stay in New York, or if Camille's on set then she can stay with Carlos's family, or Kendall's, or with Camille's sister, or like one of her eight thousand friends in Manhattan who are all baby-obsessed gay guys who are, like, beating down her door every day, fighting over who gets to take Ginger to the park."

"Dude," Carlos beams, trying to imagine telling his mother the news and whether he'll have any hearing left once she stops screaming and squealing and squeezing Logan to flatness, "this kid's gonna have like, the coolest family ever."

"Speaking of," Kendall says, "have you told James?"

Logan stares down at his lap, fingers fiddling idly with a corner of the top photo. "I'm waiting."

"For what?"

Logan looks up, eyes dark and scared for the first time since his return. "For him to come home."

They ask the cabbie to stop at the all-night Super Target, too far-gone past exhausted to trust themselves in the driver's seat (Kendall's crashed his Audi enough for one lifetime or eight, and Carlos won't let anyone near the wheel unless they've had eight hours of sleep and their cell phone is turned off).

They fill a third of a cart with fruit, water bottles, and Pop Tarts ("See?" Kendall offers, "We're acclimating"), and Kendall spends three gleeful minutes spazzing over baby bottles and bibs. Two aisles from checkout, something rustles in the bushes behind them - okay. Back up. Something that sounds like something rustling in the bushes, but none of them use any time to consider it, because for a year there was no time to consider; you couldn't afford to wait: sometimes it was hyper vigilance or your life, and the three of them whip around as one, breathing heavy, hearts racing, and no one even realizes the pocketknife bared in Carlos's hand until the kid in front of them steps warily away from the fake plant display, backing up slowly until he disappears in a run down the next aisle.

"Shit," Carlos mutters, snapping the knife shut and shoving it back into his pocket.

Logan releases a shaky exhale. "They let you take that on the plane?"

Carlos shrugs, trying to steady his breaths. "Wasn't in my carry-on."

Kendall's recoiled a bit, pressed back against a row of of canned peaches, until Carlos thinks to turn around and grab his hand. "'S okay. Just habit."

Kendall nods, but lets himself be pulled forward until he's surrounded by them on either side.

But he can't take his eyes from the silver tip of the knife peeking out of Carlos's pocket. It's James's, and it's got all the scratches and nicks and abuse from its ten-month span of use, and it's so weird, having this thing here, something bearing that strong of a connection to the island, seeing it that vividly - the way it makes Kendall feel so close, and yet even further away for that, knowing camp is halfway around the world from the middle Super Target, but that this, this signifier of the experience, is here, validating it. He can't tell if it's helping him move on or pulling him back.

Mostly he just can't stop thinking how it's James's - how it's all of James they've got.

when are you coming home?

Logan sends the text by himself, his heart and fingers trembling in the same rhythm, while Carlos and Kendall are in the bathroom adjacent to Logan's bedroom, flossing out bits of mango. He knows he's chickenshit for not putting the words through his voice and making the call, but somehow it's easier to put everything on the line when it's just a few key punches; words that don't actually come from your mouth. He knows he could get it so, so wrong, that James could come back with i am home, and Logan wouldn't be allowed to be angry because that would be completely unfair, expecting James to uproot himself from his home of the last four years for... what. Logan doesn't even know. At least he knows James will be straight with him, tell him the truth, and then Logan can break the news to the others, because he couldn't bear to watch them hear it from James.

He's expecting the worst, but he isn't expecting James to call.

"Hello?"

He doesn't even hear James's opening response, because Kendall and Carlos are shuffling in from the bathroom asking if it's James and for fuck's sake, put him on speaker, and Logan does, only because it'll look shifty if he doesn't.

"You're on speaker," he announces, hoping James will hear the apology in his voice.

"Hi, speaker," James says gently, and Kendall leans in.

"James?" he asks softly.

"Hey, sexy."

"I miss you," Kendall says, and it's so tiny and weak, his voice; it's not something Logan's heard in some time, like he's using all his energy to avoid sounding desperate, but it steals strength from his voice just to do so and winds up defeating the purpose.

"Fuck, I miss you too. So fucking - god. Yeah."

His voice trails off awkwardly just as Carlos blurts, "When are you coming?"

The silence stretches into seconds, and Logan closes his eyes. He was right; he really can't watch this.

"I'm not sure," James admits at length, and Logan can feel Carlos crumpling beside him. "I... I just... I feel like... I need to give it a few more days, you know?"

No one seems equipped to answer, until Kendall finally says, "We can't sleep."

"I know. Me neither."

"So come home, and we'll all sleep."

It makes Logan wince, the building tears shattering Kendall's voice - and he freezes to hear Kendall use that same word he was so terrified to send through a cowardly text, to just throw it out there so shamelessly, and for a moment, he's terrified it'll just push James further away.

"I will, K," is all he says. "Soon."

Logan has a flash of anger, because "soon" is relative and indistinct and too safe to be fair, and in island time, it meant much, much longer than it does here.

James tells them he loves them and Kendall and Carlos say it back, but Logan's eyes are still squeezed shut and his lips are pursed tight to keep out the words that are dangerously close to pushing out.

"Logan?"

"I love you too," he stutters, a little forced, and there's no mistaking the disappointment in James's tone before he hangs up.

They lie on their backs and stare at the ceiling for an hour, Logan in the middle. Something gentle from Logan's stereo keeps them grounded and breathing, their three cell phones lined up on the nightstand in waiting beneath the antique lamp Logan just had to have, and Carlos criticized him for because of its completely lovely floral shade, thank you, and because it only takes these tiny little light bulbs that give off tiny little useless amounts of light. But truth is, Logan loves it. It's not bright enough to make anyone self-conscious under its glow; it's just enough to see across the bed, make out the basic shapes of the room, the outline of his beautiful picture window overlooking the pool and the flower garden. He loves his stupid wimpy lamp, and when he turns his head to one side to find Kendall watching him intently, the small, shadowy light that curtains over his face nearly stops Logan's breath.

They really do kind of melt into the kiss, because Logan doesn't feel himself moving his body with any sort of conscious action; it just seems to be magnetized toward Kendall's until their mouths lock, and it's slow, intense and thorough enough for a whirling, floaty sensation to fill their heads, and it's not until Kendall progresses to a deeper tactility, slipping a hand around Logan's waist just beneath his shirt, that Logan follows his instincts to do the same and realizes his hand is trapped, clenching Carlos's behind him, tight enough to kill the circulation. It makes the new angle awkward and Kendall notices almost before Logan, pulling back and lifting his head a bit to peer at Carlos on the other side.

He grins tentatively at Carlos, but his words are for Logan: "I think he's feeling left out."

"Shut up," Carlos mumbles, but his lips are smiling and his cheeks are burning, just in time for Logan to see as he releases Kendall and twists around.

"Yeah?" he prompts, plastering himself against Carlos's side.

Carlos keeps his chin tucked shyly to his chest, not meeting Logan's eyes, but he doesn't miss the chance to voice another whispered "Shut up" just before Logan grips his chin and lifts it up until their mouths meet.

Somewhere behind him he hears Kendall gasp softly as he and Carlos fall right into the rhythm they'd set so many years ago, like no time has passed at all (and it hasn't, really, because all that matters is now). It turns out "somewhere behind" is actually a lot closer than Logan had thought, because it isn't long before he feels Kendall against the length of his back, pressing forward in that liquid, undulating way that turns Logan's limbs to jelly, until Kendall starts kissing at the back of his neck and Logan just keens.

"Fuck," Carlos chokes, and it's only then Logan realizes he might've reacted a little more vocally than he'd realized.

They all kind of stop then, pulling apart to watch one another, but there are still soft little movements between their bodies, Kendall pressing his hips up against Logan's ass in tiny, barely-there motions; Carlos's hips arching up just slightly to meet Logan's, and Logan pressing down to meet them: they're tiny movements no one would see unless they were in the midst of it, but they send Logan's head reeling like it's barely attached to his body. And maybe it's the exhaustion, maybe it's the stress, maybe it's just the wrecked, gorgeous glow on Carlos's and Kendall's faces, their lips red and swollen and Jesus, Logan did that, on both accounts - and this is crazy, seriously - but it kind of isn't something he thinks he could ever stop.

Logan rolls over enough to watch the other two, only to find them watching each other with some sort of rabid, undefined hunger - like maybe they're planning to make a meal out of each other, or else maybe buttons are about to start popping.

Logan smiles inside, squeezing himself out from between them and nestling himself against Kendall's other side and pushing forward, so Kendall and Carlos are forced into a proximity that leaves them very few options.

Kendall's chest is heaving and his eyes are glancing to Logan for support, but always coming back to Carlos like he's waiting. Logan hasn't seen Carlos this nervous since the first time they stripped off each other's clothes with trembling teenage fingers in the Friday evening light of Carlos's old bedroom: and it turns out, now, he's just as gorgeous as he was then.

Carlos eventually pushes himself up, half leaning over Kendall and setting sharp, questioning pools of brown onto Kendall's wide emerald-greens, reaching up to let his fingers skip over and down the lines of Kendall's ribs through his t-shirt. Logan watches them both lick their lips, blink in flutters, alternating between holding their breath and letting it pour out randomly, sporadic and shaky.

Honestly; this is ridiculous.

"Kendall, I think if you don't kiss him he's gonna go crazy."

Carlos and Kendall both take a brief moment to glare gratefully at Logan, before Kendall curls a hand around the back of Carlos's neck and yanks him down.

Logan's so awestruck for the first few seconds that it takes him a moment to realize he's witnessing a first kiss, nerves and awkward adjustments and thrilling rush and all, and he's never seen anything like this, so fucking close, with the explicit permission for him to watch, to listen to all the tiny little gasps and stuttered whimpers and allow it to build that dizzying heat low in the pit of his stomach.

Best of all, though, he gets to do more than watch.

He inches up on them after awhile, just to remind them he's there, and Carlos doesn't hesitate to pull him forward until they're all sharing kisses, mouths on mouths all at once, this lazy, exhaustion-fueled energy sparking between them. They fall asleep like that, draped across one another and fully clothed. Logan can feel hands all over him, splayed across his back and curled around his hip; another balled up against his chest.

If he closes his eyes, he can pretend one of them is James's.

It's not at all surprising that they barely sleep, twisting around one another in various arrangements of snuggling, heavy-lidded eyes literally aching for relief; the shallow, rapid thud-thud-thud that insomnia and sleep deprivation bestow upon their heartbeats.

It's not even that surprising when they call James the next morning and he doesn't answer.

He probably slept, finally.

What's surprising is that by evening, two voicemails and one text each have gone unanswered.

What's surprising is that when Carlos inevitably wakes up for the third time around midnight, he and Logan are the only ones in the bed.

It takes him a few seconds to register that he's not awake by his body's choice, but rather by external provocation.

He slips out of the bedroom quickly and shuts the door with a barely audible click so the sounds won't wake Logan. Logan should sleep. Logan should sleep for days, and if Carlos can see to it that he does, he will.

The notes grow in prominence as Carlos pads down the stairs to the music room, an open, airy, window-lined expanse of space that's striking in daylight, all sun-soaked and welcoming, with squashy chairs and notebooks and instruments and music memorabilia all over. It's the only part of Logan's house that Carlos thinks the kid actually got right.

But now, even in the dark, illumined only by the kitchen's distant stove-light, it appears no less beautiful.

That may, however, have something to do with the fact that it's Kendall seated at the keys of the piano, posture intact and striking even at this late hour, in his state of tiredness. He's in nothing but a pair of dark blue boxer briefs, and the lingering tan across the plane of his back glows like honey in the splash of light.

Carlos is so transfixed by the sight that it takes him a moment to recognize the piece coming to life beneath Kendall's fingers.

His body itches to creep forward, slip his arms around Kendall and - well, just holding him would be good, although Carlos's mind isn't above entertaining some other, more scandalous possibilities. But something in him can't bear to disturb the image, like it's a painting at the museum, untouchable, intended to be appreciated only in its visual integrity. He leans against the open doorframe, watching the subtle movements as Kendall's hands sweep over the keys and back, settling into small sections and then traveling the length of the keyboard. His head hangs low despite the straight line of his back, and it's almost like he's asleep, lost in the dream of the music and barely aware of his own breathtaking performance.

Carlos nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels Logan suddenly behind him, snaking his arms around Carlos's waist.

They watch, just like that, until the piece nears its end, and it's Logan who moves first, crossing softly across the room and curling up on the floor beside the bench, resting his head against Kendall's hip.

The piece comes to its finish, and Kendall reaches down to card a hand through Logan's hair, stopping to stroke across his cheek, his lips, gently over his eyelids. Carlos follows, then, too addicted to stay away, and settles on the floor on Kendall's other side, head nestled in Kendall's lap, and it's not long before he feels a hand in his own hair too, twirling the strands and smoothing them out. He presses a gentle kiss to the bare thigh beneath his cheek, and above him, he hears a quiet sigh float from Kendall's lips.

"This," Kendall whispers suddenly, skating his fingers soundlessly over the keys. "This is the only thing I've missed."

Carlos doesn't know what makes him do it, but he's pulling himself up on his knees and leaning in to kiss Kendall lightly on the mouth. Logan does the same when they separate, and they both settle back down to the floor, half under the piano, heads resting in matching spots on Kendall's lap, as he begins to coax out the opening notes of that SoCo classic.

He's barely a minute in when the knock sounds firmly on the solid burgundy wood of the front door.


	20. Chapter 20

**last chapter and then an epilogue forthcoming. thanks for reading!**

_"And then she pulled my hair and told Miss Patty I pulled hers!"_

_Logan sighs dramatically with as much wise sympathy as he can muster; having already experienced the woes of the first grade before his school recommended he move up, he feels well qualified to assist Carlos with his. Absently, he squints up at Orion's Belt in one of the rare clear night skies. It looks more like, you know, stars to him, so, to hell with his stupid second grade astronomy book. Those old dudes back then had way too much imagination. Unfortunate side effect of no video games._

_"Girls are stupid," he decides._

_"Yeah." Carlos shuffles around on top of the sleeping bag, trying to get comfortable. "When I grow up and get married, I'm living alone."_

_Logan tears his eyes from the striking sight above their heads, but he kind of doesn't mind because Carlos's eyes are prettier than any of the stars, anyway. "I don't know if it really works that way."_

_Carlos shrugs. "Whatever."_

_Logan sprawls his limbs out, his toe brushing against Carlos's ankle. It's soft and Logan kind of wants to tickle it because Carlos has the best laugh ever, but that would involve moving. Still, his arms are too long for the layer of blankets they'd laid out in Carlos's backyard, and a few stray blades of grass prickle the underside of his wrists as he stretches out._

_"You could marry me," Logan offers. "I wouldn't pull your hair."_

_Carlos considers the offer, his face spreading into a smile. "Cool, yeah. Would they let us do that?"_

_"We can do whatever we want, Litos. We could even marry more people if we wanted. We won't have to listen to adults then."_

_"Oh yeah! But... don't you have to fall in love to get married?"_

_There's no age too young to feel the effects of love, nor to fear its loss, and Logan turns back to him with a sharp crease in his forehead. "But you're my best friend. I do love you."_

_"Oh." His lips break into another smile, this one softer, and Logan thinks he looks older somehow. It's weird, because they already seem so, so much older to Logan than they did a year ago. He nods, firmly like he's made a decision, and echoes, "I love you too."_

_"Good, then it's settled," says Logan._

_They're silent for a few long minutes, falling into daydreams through the calls of summer night insects, before Carlos remarks, "I thought marriage would be harder than this."_

_"Nah," Logan shrugs. "People just make it hard."_

_xxx_

Kendall's spent a long time training himself to just avoid disappointment and expect the worst, especially since a lot of the time, that's what he gets - so no matter how much that persistent bit of his sleep-weary brain is hoping, running James's name on a broken-record loop spreading quickly to the less optimistic bits of his consciousness, he still tells himself no.

He forces a loop of "no" to run over James's name in his head, even as he watches Logan pulling himself slowly to his feet and heading to the foyer, Carlos close on his heels. Even as he shakes himself out of his first piano haze in nearly a year and follows, no and JamesJamesJames are still fighting so hard he's starting to ignore them and wander to third options: that heightened emotional state that insomnia bestows upon its victim is sending his mind reeling into realms of fear, remembering they haven't heard from James in twenty-four hours, and how James likes to wander alone aimlessly when he's conflicted, and how the last time they'd been in New York, Kendall had nearly been mugged.

There's a moment in the foyer that might feel symbolic if their minds were working at a higher capacity, with Logan nearly pressed against the length of the door, one hand on the knob and the other flat against its panels, his forehead resting just beside the peephole, but his eyes are squeezed shut, too afraid to look because whatever it is is probably going to change their lives forever. Kendall pads across the floor to him, pressing himself gently against Logan's back, arms encircling him, and rests his head against Logan's shoulderblade. It's only seconds before he feels Carlos creep up from behind and do the same to him, sandwiching Kendall between the two of them. He feels their torsos shift as they take breaths, and it steadies his own, but he's sure Logan can feel Kendall's heart pounding against his back.

And they're there, a frozen line of nerves three times over, until Logan whispers, "Okay," and Carlos backs off first, then Kendall; pieces breaking off from an almost-whole, as Logan shifts just enough to align one eye with the peephole.

There's a noise Kendall supposes comes from Logan, indistinct with no indicator as to whether it's a good noise or a bad noise, somewhere between a gasp and a sob and a shriek, but he's scrambling and fighting with the locks and the deadbolt like the future of the world (their world) depends on it, swinging open the door as the porch light spills in, showering their visitor in a spotlight almost as bright as the one their eyes have held him under for as long as they can remember.

James smiles. "Um, sorry, I - my phone died when I was at the airport and my charger was - "

The sleepy, slurred line of words cuts off when James finds himself with a mouthful of Logan's tongue.

That, more or less, effectively wakes Kendall up. All of him.

It's all cloudy then, in a weird way that doesn't quite feel like reality; makes him feel more like he's inside a photograph (which, like, James would think is awesome, but Kendall's probably going to be too busy to tell him that, soon). It's like everything he's watching is bright and clear, but everything outside that one line of vision is blurred - it's there, but everything's so much that he can only focus on one bit at a time.

It's a pretty good focus, where he is now: James has dropped his suitcases to the concrete outside the door, his arms coming around Logan, hands grasping tight at his back to hold him closer, curling in like they're trying to find something to grip, finally sliding around and settling at his hips. Somewhere in the blurry parts, Kendall hears Carlos gasp, and who knew gasps could be so distinctive, but it is, it's gorgeous, and everything just gets blurrier when he starts thinking of all the things he might do to hear it again. The thought feels so normal even if it's the first time it's been allowed into his consciousness: and it's an interesting juxtaposition, here, because for all the physical that seems to blur from one image and one moment to the next, the internal - the emotional of it, the way the nonsense flips to logic, a fucking pillar of sense - is finally, finally, clear as crystal.

James holds Logan at arm's length when oxygen calls, looking at him like he just woke up from a dream into a much, much better one. Kendall feels like he missed something because they've both got slick-wet trails down their cheeks that weren't there when their mouths met. James's pulling him close again, heads touching and arms down by their sides, but their hands are entwined as he whispers apologies against Logan's lips, Logan shaking his head in wordless protests, finally giving up and putting an end to it all with his mouth, pressing it again to James's. It's not a real kiss, maybe; there's little movement and it's more like an answer than the question kisses tend to be, but only more beautiful for it.

When Logan lets him go for good, a little sheepish when he meets Kendall and Carlos's matching stares, James's focus scans quickly around to them, eyes big and mouth open a bit before the corners start to curl up.

"So, what, this was all one big booty call, huh?"

Little, disbelieving bursts of laughter are tossed around then as Kendall flings himself forward, and James is so ready to meet him it doesn't even feel like Kendall's the one making the attack as James's arms come around him, so tight he can barely breathe, but James's better than oxygen anyway. Through the still open door he's got moonlight hitting his face from one side, but it feels like Logan and Carlos's smiles on the other are far, far brighter.

He buries his face in James's neck and whispers, "I've never felt anything so good as you in my arms right now."

James chokes something that might be a laugh, but is probably a well disguised sob to hear Kendall echo his words back at him like that, used so long ago but with no less passion.

It's James who moves first this time, and all Kendall can think is fucking finally when he feels James's broad hands cup his face, drawing him forward in no uncertain terms. And god, it's strange, to have the sudden admission to himself that he'd imagined this a thousand times, and it is just as good: James's scratchy stubble in contrast to the dizzying, insistent hot-wet of his mouth, already plenty pliant from Logan's ambush, and even as Kendall feels his knees start to give, it's almost as if the high of it all is holding him up, keeping him steady.

He pretty soon realizes it's Carlos, who's actually holding him up, and mostly to shove him out of the way.

"Move it, Knight," he grumbles, but there's a tiny smile reserved just for Kendall before he plants himself in front of James.

And Kendall can give in this time, because watching their eyes in this moment is worth every second James's mouth isn't on his.

He's never seen that look on either of their faces, and to see it in double, both at once, is staggering: their matching, tiny little smiles, the literal shine in their eyes, and Kendall's never been one for figurative, overused metaphors, but they're totally, totally sparkling. They're like kids at at a junior high dance, they way they inch closer, asking, eyelashes fluttering, noses and smiles bumping into one another before they decide hey, actual kissing would be good now, and finally letting their mouths take them the rest of the way. And it's incredible, watching them kiss, and as everything outside them seems to blur from Kendall's vision, he imagines how much more so it must be for them.

They pull apart a bit and James catches Carlos's ear lightly between his teeth, still smiling as he whispers, "I fell in love with you when you were jailbait," and Carlos cracks up.

It's only when Logan smiles against Kendall's shoulder that he even realizes he and Logan have fallen into one another, Logan behind him, arms snaked around Kendall's middle.

"All right, seriously," Logan huffs, "you're letting moths in, close the fucking door."

This only makes James and Carlos laugh harder, until they're practically doubled over, and James finds some scrap of strength left to hoist his suitcases over the threshold but Kendall steps in between them and starts waving his arms in sweeping motions, trying to usher the moths inside.

"Kendall!" Logan whines, but Carlos is already lunging for Logan, hoisting him up without warning in a fireman's carry, tossing Logan over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and heading for the stairs.

Logan's still whining and batting at Carlos and giggling to the point of tears all at once, and Kendall's laughing so hard he can't really breathe, but he was right, James is totally better than oxygen, because James crouches over enough for Kendall to hop onto his back, and they follow Carlos's warpath, Kendall on James's back and clinging to him monkey-like as he mounts the spiral staircase, and Kendall wonders what exists beyond happiness, because surely, this is it.

Kendall wonders briefly how they do it, when he and James step into the room: how Carlos and Logan can just, be, exist in this so effortlessly already, like they've been like this all along inside, only dormant, like it was tucked away on a shelf when they were sixteen, left to collect dust but never forgotten, and now it's been brought back to use, as full of life as ever. They're collapsed together on the bed, on their sides, legs and arms tangled as Carlos spoons him, and Logan's still letting out intermittent giggles, the smile on his face wider than Kendall's ever seen. Carlos is smiling too, nuzzling at his neck and Logan turns into it, closing his eyes. And while part of Kendall wants to jump in, take Logan for himself just like he'd once promised, there's something bigger inside him that makes him think maybe this whole thing isn't all an accident, or random: maybe there's an art to it, an actual way that this works, and even as he thinks it, the pieces are already starting to arrange themselves in the right order, locking into place until everything makes far more sense than it should.

"...So," James muses, voice a little tenuous beneath the jesting tone, "obviously we're going to sleep now."

Logan and Carlos stutter out another soft round of giggles, and Kendall feels something pulling him, physically, to the bed like he's not even in control of his own limbs, and he wonders if that's what this is - if that's what this means, what they have - if it's always going to be like this, this magnetism that pulls them toward the center of the circle where they all become something greater than themselves on their own. And, idly, if it's always going to be this powerful: in public, in interviews; Jesus, on stage, and if he'll be able to control himself.

Most astonishing is that he kind of doesn't care.

They're quick to meet him when he climbs onto the bed, feeling it dip under his hands and knees. Carlos leans over to meet Kendall's mouth, and Logan's pushing himself up to kiss his way across Kendall's chest stretched out taut above Logan's face, and just as his tongue darts out over a nipple, Kendall breaks the kiss, hanging his head limp and loose, hair falling into his eyes because it's all so, so much sensation in this tiny, concentrated bit of universe.

It takes him a few seconds to register James's choked whisper of, "Jesus."

Three heads lift, an overglowing triad of chocolate-amber-green settling on him, a question that only has one answer.

Kendall smiles, tiny and tentative. "You coming?"

"Pretty close," James splutters breathlessly without thinking, eyes unfocused. "Um, I mean - "

He's blushing, James Diamond is blushing, and Kendall doesn't know why, but it makes him blush back, like he's embarrassed to find it so hot. Beside him he can see Logan and Carlos's nervous little smiles, and when Kendall extends out his hand, beckoning James to them, it's a moment of stalled breaths and roaring heartbeats as James watches them all through thick, heavy lashes, lips parted, for a long and gut-wrenching moment before he slowly starts making his way to the bed.

"Yay," Kendall chirps softly, smiling bright when James takes his hand.

"Um." James crawls up beside Kendall, each movement stiff and uncertain. "So, what - "

Kendall pulls James down on top of him and it says, This.

James lets himself fall with a muffled sort of "mphsh" sound that Kendall swallows, and if kissing James was awesome before, it's even better now, feeling his weight pressing down on Kendall just enough for him to feel pleasantly trapped. James tastes like gingerale and Snickers, forever his in-flight sustenance of choice, and it feels so familiar it steals all of Kendall's crystal-clear focus for a brilliant moment, blurring everything else out. When he pulls back, the contrast of clarity shifts, and he finds Carlos straddling Logan's hips, mouths sliding together, their shirts floating gracelessly to the floor.

Kendall reaches over and pinches Carlos's hip. "Impatient much?"

Carlos pinches back, automatic, before pulling back to set a glowing smile on him, edged with mischief. "Make yourself useful and strip."

"Do it yourself."

Kendall's not really thinking when he says it, but Carlos's slow quirk of an eyebrow quickly reminds him that Carlo ha's never been one to reject a challenge.

It's kind of stunning - the slow, deliberate way he moves, gently climbing off Logan as James climbs off Kendall, curling up against his side; and there's a wave of palpable nerves running through Carlos's movements, but it just makes him more beautiful, stripping him of his inhibitions (ha, stripping, oh god what), because when can anything strip Carlos Garcia of his inhibitions, especially as they're so rare and few to begin with?

Kendall can feel James's chest heaving beside him, one of his hands stroking absently at the waist of Kendall's underwear as Kendall sits himself up enough for Carlos to do as he pleases (and just the formation of those words in his mind sends an electric jolt through his veins). Out of the corner of his eye he can see Logan reaching across the bed for James, trailing his hand down over the strong lines of his arm, across the bare skin below the sleeve of his shirt, and somewhere in the blurry beyond, Kendall hears James gasp.

Carlos inches up on him, tucking his hands under the hem of Kendall's t-shirt, and begins a slow, upward slide. It feels perfectly timed, every inch of newly exposed skin revealed with the same kind of precision Carlos uses when he sings. Kendall lifts his arms obligingly, and Logan reaches up to spread one set of spidery fingers out over the flexing muscles of his bare back, stroking lightly.

Kendall shivers and closes his eyes and when he opens them, he's just missed Carlos leaning in, and finds Carlos's lips working over his, brief, teasing, not even enough time for Kendall to kiss back before Carlos pulls away, turning to James.

James looks almost guilty, like's he's been caught at something, and it helps a bit to ease the nerves in Carlos's smile.

Carlos rests his hands on James's knees, and Kendall can see that they're shaking, and he doesn't know why, but it's kind of precious to see Carlos in pieces like this. Kendall thinks maybe, between the three of them, they can put him back together.

"You," Carlos tells James, "are tragically overdressed."

And this certain smile kind of explodes between the two of them then, wide and knowing, nerves gone as Carlos goes to work on his shirt. It's wrinkled from all the time spent on the plane, and Kendall has to admit, it does look much better on the floor next to the others.

He and Logan seem to take it upon themselves to make use of any bit of James that Carlos gives them access to, situated on either side of him and kissing their way down his chest, meeting in the middle and relocating their mouths to each other as Carlos starts on James's belt. Kendall thinks maybe James's making breathy, garbled noises, mostly incoherent swears and bits and pieces of their names and nicknames, but it's kind of hard to pay attention once Carlos slides James's loose, worn jeans easily down his legs and Logan ducks his head to take James into his mouth.

"HolyJesusfuck," James hisses, and it's the most coherent thing he's said so far.

His hands drop to Logan's hair like instinct, and for a few moments they just rest there, stroking and massaging, and Kendall's so lost in the image of Logan's kiss-swollen lips stretched tight around James's dick, dropping down to the base like it's nothing (and from what Kendall can see, James's dick is definitely something) that he almost misses it when James starts pushing Logan off.

"Logan, hey, wait - stop - "

Logan obeys, but his eyes are broken and terrified. "Is it - "

"No, hey." James's hand comes back to his hair, thumb stroking soft across Logan's cheek as he tries to breathe through his smile. "It's just. This is gonna be over so, so fast if you keep doing that."

Logan blushes. "Oh."

"And like, hey," James realizes suddenly, "why am I the only one naked? That's Kendall's job."

Kendall slaps him, out of a sense of duty. "Maybe you should take care of that, lazy ass."

"I'm lazy? You're the one who wouldn't even strip himself."

Kendall turns an eye on Carlos, dark and wickedly suggestive. "I just like Carlos's hands."

It works like whoa, and Carlos turns the shade of pink he used to wear, but his eyes turn wicked too, and Kendall wonders what's there, what's behind it that Carlos's plotting, what else he might like to do to Kendall with those hands. It makes his blood rush and his cock twitch and for a moment everything blurs.

"Well," James starts shakily, but it's all the introduction he needs as he crawls over Carlos, reversing their previous positions, and slips his fingers beneath his waistband. Kendall can almost hear James's heart beating, but he doesn't falter, just tugs until they slide down, and there's a bit of a hitch because Carlos is already motherfucking hard and James has to work the fabric past it without, like, coming in his pants, and Kendall admires how well he manages.

James can't resist giving Carlos's cock a few slow, tentative strokes, eyes and mouth wide at the reactions. Carlos practically melts under his hands, looking tiny and out of control in a way he never has, but James manages to tear himself away, turn his attention to Kendall, and it's no less intense but there's something lighter in it, playful, and when he shoves gently at Kendall, Kendall indulgently plops back against the pillows beside Logan, sharing James's geeky little giggle as his fingers work Kendall's last bit of clothing down and off - but before he can even touch him, Logan's got his fingers around Kendall's cock, gripping firm and hot.

"A little possessive, honey?" Kendall raises a teasing eyebrow at him, and Logan kisses him hard until the only part of his body that can raise worth anything is the one in Logan's hand.

"Shoo," James orders, batting at Logan's hand and pushing at him until Logan falls onto his back, grinning up at James with a world of mischief swarming in his eyes, and Kendall loves that James can do that to Logan, can draw out that inner child somewhere buried inside the eighty-year-old man, and yet still make Logan feel that he's worth everything even those times he can't let loose, when he's wound up so tight no one can pull him out of it.

But he does, James totally does, and they're still grinning in each other's faces (seriously, heart eyes if we're getting right down to it) as Logan lifts his hips and James peels off his boxer briefs - neon blue, stolen from Kendall.

And Kendall seriously, holy god, thinks he'll never get tired of seeing Logan like this, hard, leaking, face wrecked and flushed, and just, fuck.

Logan turns abruptly to him, and okay, Kendall may've breathed that last word out loud, but Logan's yanking him down, spurred on by Kendall's clear lack of control over himself (Kendall's not sure why; it's nothing new), and their mouths crash, hard and perfect and they fit so fucking seamlessly that Kendall kind of can't believe this is the first time he's really full-on kissed Logan in this. It's so easy to lose himself that he does, and it's more intimate, less desperate, than any of their kisses have been all along, ever - so all-consuming it takes a blurred awareness of the sounds above them to finally pull Kendall away.

"Look," Kendall whispers. "Logan."

Their heads turn upward to see James and Carlos at their feet, leaning over them on either side and meeting in a kiss that's somewhere between cautiously frantic and just plain rabid, Carlos's hands gripping James's arms; James is gripping tight at Carlos's hip and the other curled gently around his neck. Kendall knows this is the first time they've had this kind of freedom with each other, and he knows from experience what that feels like, and just the memory makes him dizzy.

Kendall gasps, choked and shameless, reaching out aimlessly, his fingers just itching to touch, to be a part of it, but the tiny bit of contact as he brushes against James's leg is all it takes for them to shift their focus, dropping down to tangle with Kendall and Logan until they're one big, messy pile of mouths, tongues, arms and legs, cocks, breaths, heartbeats, and forty fingers all constantly desperate to touch more than they were the second before. Kendall's kind of awed that it works so effortlessly like this, that it's really no more difficult with four than with two or three. It's messy and uncoordinated and he figures if they were drunk things might get really confusing (but awesomely); elbows bump and teeth clash and sometimes someone gets a little squashed, but it's supposed to be like that: the flaws are what make it perfect, make it real - because to Kendall, the perfection is the fact that this is real.

He's in a weird state where he can vaguely tell whose mouth/arm/hand is whose, but his body's so ahead of his mind that for a few seconds he can't tell, and that's what he loves the most, feeling like part of one: completely cradled, covered, swallowed by these three boys, knowing these people love him more than anyone in the world, and looking back on this night for the rest of his life, that moment, that thought, is the one he knows he'll remember.

Kendall's not used to carrying around this many unvoiced thoughts, especially at a time like this, that his head is swirling viciously, unaware when he vaguely registers Logan reaching behind the pile of limbs to the nightstand, long fingers curling around the handle and tugging until it jerks open. There's a crinkling sound, and Logan struggling to grab onto something, and suddenly there's a foot-long string of square foil wrappers landing in the middle of their pile, strewn across someone's leg and someone else's stomach.

Everyone gradually comes to a halt, harsh breaths filling the silence, and it's kind of strange, finally getting a good look at everyone, tangled and sweat-glistened skin on skin, eyes suddenly wide. It kind of reminds Kendall of a game of Twister, but even aside from that, he totally kind of wants to laugh, because Logan totally just threw like ten condoms at them and, sorry, but Kendall's hella tired and this is funny.

Carlos is the first to react with a snort. "Someone's got a high opinion of his stamina."

Kendall and James crack the fuck up, toppling down onto each other, and Logan tries to glare at Carlos but it's impossible, not with Carlos's gentle smile on him, his hand tracing soft circles into that little crease at the top of Logan's thigh - which Kendall has learned is Logan's weak spot, and, Jesus, Carlos has probably known it for years.

Logan tears off a couple condoms, throws them at Kendall and James as a weapon, and tosses the rest to the ground.

It's a big enough hint that all laughter dies to careful breathing and parted lips, not quite sure where to go from here.

James sits up and bites his lip and looks at Kendall, who picks up the wrapper and stares down at it, turning it around in his palm. When he risks a glance up, Logan's watching him anxiously, and Kendall knows if he ripped it open and rolled it down over himself, no one would think twice. It's too easy.

He reaches out and places the little foil square in Carlos's hand, looking up into his eyes with a careful smile. "I think you've been waiting for this the longest."

Carlos gives him a look that suggests he might want to have Kendall's babies, and for Carlos, that's kind of like having god's favor shine down upon you.

He closes his fingers around the packet and Kendall watches as Carlos turns to Logan, Logan's eyes glowing as they gaze back into his, and they look so young, like just the fact that they're finally sharing this together, picking up where they left off, has taken them right back to that time, but fumbling teenage nerves now making way for the ease of time-worn wisdom; another half a decade spent developing the strongest relationship Kendall's ever witnessed between two people.

Kendall leans in to kiss Logan's temple, and Logan reaches for him automatically but Kendall's got other plans, pulling himself up to stretch an arm out to the same bedside table drawler until Logan whispers, "Under the books," and Kendall pokes around a bit more, fingers scrambling to close around the little bottle, which he presses into James's hand.

James looks at him surprised, like he isn't quite sure what to do with it, and Kendall can't resist the smirk. "That goes on your fingers." James lovingly smacks the back of his head.

But it's not enough to hide the slight shadow that settles across James's face as he turns to Logan. "Is this... are you..."

Logan smiles at him, big and sleepy, and Kendall thinks maybe it'll be easier for Logan like this the first time, doing it with two people who've never done it, so when they fumble, they'll fumble together.

Carlos settles down against Logan's side, pressing little kisses into his neck as James uncaps the bottle and pours a pool of it into his hand, carefully and thoroughly, like it's a science, and Kendall smiles to himself to think of all the ways all the little bits of our lives influence moments like this in the most intriguing ways.

Kendall really can't help himself, just watching Logan like this, chest heaving and sweat-slick as James spills the liquid over his fingers, and he just, he can't, not, and he feels himself dropping forward before he can think about it too much, spreading Logan's legs and dipping his tongue into the tight pucker of Logan's entrance.

"Oh, god," Logan shudders, head to toe. "Kendall. Fuck."

"Shit," Carlos whispers, a high-pitched squeak of awe, and somewhere above him, James just gasps as Kendall works his tongue, licking all around in wide, lazy circles, and slipping inside a bit to get him ready for James's fingers.

James's looking at him like Kendall's accomplished something grand, eyes sparkling, lube dripping from his hands, which have frozen in place.

"A little more," Kendall urges softly, and James obliges, adding another coat to his fingers. "Okay, good."

James takes Kendall's place then in front of Logan, settling between his legs and circling one finger carefully around his hole before nudging forward, his eyes never breaking contact with Logan's.

"Slow," Kendall whispers, "just like - yeah."

Logan's got one hand entwined in both of Kendall's and the other with Carlos's, his breath stuttering as he presses his hips down onto James's finger, urging him deeper, and James gets the hint, working it gently in and out until Kendall sees something desperate flash in Logan's eyes, something Kendall recognizes all too well, and he whispers, "Another."

And really, Kendall had never planned to be the ringmaster here, but it seems to work, so seamlessly, and it's kind of incredible, knowing Logan this well even though they've never made it further than this on their own. It's almost like he's doing it all to Logan himself, acting it out through them: Logan's pleasure still lies in his hands, in his words, and the power makes him utterly dizzy with want.

Logan's face is stunning as James works him open with two, head tilted back and lips bitten red, and there's only the smallest change in his expression all of a sudden but it's enough for Kendall to know James's found that spot, and Kendall tells him gently, "Do that again."

James does whatever he'd done, watching in awe as Logan melts into it, head falling to the side as he whimpers helplessly into Carlos's neck. Carlos's mouth is just hanging open, like he can't believe it's all real, and Kendall makes a mental note of how fucking good Carlos looks with his mouth open; to tell him later and watch him put that mouth to use with snark, or maybe something better.

"One more," Kendall says, and James's careful as fuck with the third; it's a tight fit and he can see the tension in Logan's face, but it seems James's a quick learner (another valuable mental note; Kendall has plenty he'd like to teach him) because he finds that sweet spot again on the first push, and Logan's honest to god writhing underneath him now, pressing down against James's hand, his body moving in waves as he thrusts, and it's so fucking beautiful Kendall almost forgets this is up to him now, in his hands. The thought makes him reel and his throat is parched when he chokes out, "Los."

Carlos does not need to be told twice; it's like he was on alert, like a fucking boy scout as he rips open the packet and carefully slides it down over himself, exchanging one of those secret smiles with Logan and kissing him sweetly, before he nudges at him. "Over on your side?" he suggests, his voice a bundle of nerves. "So they can kiss you, yeah?"

Kendall would feel a little peeved that Carlos is taking over ringmaster duties with all these awesome ideas, only, said awesome ideas sound highly beneficial to Kendall, so he lets it slide.

Slide, and, oh god, slick, and wet, and okay, now he's watching Carlos line himself up against Logan's ass, hand curled firm around Logan's hip, and just watching this might end things much sooner for Kendall than he'd like.

But Carlos is looking to Kendall now, eyes wide, and Kendall smiles at him, grateful for the distraction. "Um, slow, right? Like, an inch at a time. Wait for him to adjust."

Logan's reaching for James as Carlos starts to move, spilling a broken moan into James's mouth as the head of Carlos's cock pushes through. Kendall drops down to Logan's side next to James, hovering over him, and whispers, "Okay?" in his ear. Logan nods blindly, fingers tight around James's arms. "Relax for him," Kendall breathes. "Let him in."

And apparently Logan's taking this as dirty talk (good to know, Kendall notes), because all in one moment his cock twitches, James notices and wraps a hand around it, and Logan pulls Kendall down to him and gasps against his mouth as Carlos pushes in the rest of the way, agonizingly slow and finally stilling with his hips flush against Logan's ass.

Carlos buries his face in the back of Logan's neck, under the damp, matted tangle of hair, and breathes roughly, like he's trying to steady himself and remember he's not fifteen, and coming right now would probably suck pretty hard. He whispers, "Fuck," and then, "you okay?"

Logan nods shakily, a crooked smile stretching over his lips as he angles his head to the side so Carlos can kiss him. "Move already, dork."

Carlos lets out a breathless puff of laughter and honors his request, pulling out just slightly and thrusting gently back in, and again, already shifting his hips to find the right angle, and, success. Logan moans into the nearest mouth, which happens to be James's, because Kendall can't take his fucking eyes off this, and, heh. It figures Carlos would be a natural at this. Kendall makes another mental note and tries to stave off images of himself with Carlos on top of him, pinning his wrists down (with those hands) and slamming into him as James whispers filth into his ear and Logan's fingers stroke teasingly over his dick, and.

And, right. Maybe Kendall needs to remember he's not fifteen either, even though his body would like to disagree.

Kendall sits up a bit, taking James with him, and for a moment they just watch this unfold, sitting back on their heels in front of the other two, James wrapping his arms around Kendall from behind, one to lock around his chest and hold him in place (Kendall's favorite move ever, how did James know), and the other coming to curl around Kendall's dick, making experimental little strokes as he nuzzles into Kendall's neck and pushes forward a bit, his dick rubbing lightly against Kendall's ass. Kendall tries to bite back a moan and fails miserably, causing Logan and Carlos to look up at them in awe, mouths dropped. It all makes it much, much harder to concentrate on the sight - Carlos and Logan having found a rhythm, their fingers entwined securely against Logan's chest, Logan whispering Carlos's name like he can't believe Carlos is here and needs proof; both of them so fucking beautiful together, the contrast of sharp angles and their obvious need for Carlos's gentle curves to balance them out - that finally Kendall can't take it anymore, wrapping his hand around James's on his dick and bringing it up to his mouth, sucking in the three fingers he'd had inside Logan only minutes before.

James collapses a bit against his back then, pressing his face into Kendall's shoulder, his breaths hot and hard on Kendall's skin, before he gently guides Kendall down to the bed to face Logan, settling behind him and gently sliding the first finger inside him.

He's not quite as gentle as he was with Logan, like he knows they both need this five minutes ago, and Kendall loves it, urging him to two and three before Logan's even opened his eyes and figured out what's going on. He gasps when he does, and Kendall smiles lazily at him, his eyes unfocused and half-lidded, letting his body go limp as James works him steadily open, the efforts pushing Kendall closer to Logan with every thrust. They share a couple of hazy, pecking sort of kisses, noses bumping lightly, hands cradling each other's cheeks, until Kendall feels James slip out of him and he whimpers from the loss, shivering as James moves away. At last he hears the unmistakable sound of foil being ripped open, and an agonizing stretch of silence before James settles back against him, lining up and carefully pushing forward, following Kendall's earlier advice of slowslowslow, but Kendall's no virgin here and he's about to explode as it is, so he arches his back and pushes back against James's hips and hopes he gets the hint.

"Fuck, Ken."

He gets the hint.

And it's been so fucking long since he's done this that he'd almost forgotten, but the feeling is only a thousand times improved for how much time has passed. It feels like the first time again (Beau's soft purrs of encouragement, gentle fingers massaging the small of Kendall's back), the stretch just barely teetering on the good side of painful, the slow-burning drag as James pulls out and thrusts gently back in, so good Kendall almost wants to cry.

Logan, for his part, looks like he's going to pass out if Kendall doesn't start kissing him for real, so he does, and it's wildly different from any other kiss ever, because the force of James and Carlos's thrusts are setting the rhythm for their mouths, leaving them with only a sliver of control over their kisses. It makes Kendall's head impossibly fuzzy to think their tongues are dipping into each other's mouths at the same moment James and Carlos are disappearing inside them, and just when he thinks he's close to death by sensory overload, Logan reaches down and wraps his fingers around Kendall's dick.

Kendall makes some embarrassing noise that may or may not be a moan, or possibly some awkward mating call in primitive cultures, but Logan takes it as encouragement and begins to stroke him a little more firmly, with purpose, and Kendall's hand comes automatically to match him, closing over Logan's cock and starting to pull upward with slow, thorough strokes. Logan melts, like completely melts, limbs turning liquid and his body starting to move obscenely between Kendall and Carlos, snaking one leg over Kendall's hip, his eyelids fluttering shut but always opening again, always coming back to look at Kendall before they fall into another kiss, share another breath.

The noises they're exchanging are enough to steal James and Carlos's attention. James looks up first, muttering some string of curses when he sees them together, bringing each other off with lazy, sleepy strokes; Carlos lifts his head from where he's kissing the back of Logan's neck and gasps, reaching forward for James's hand, which has started crawling aimlessly across the two of them like it doesn't know what it wants other than to touch.

Their hands meet in the middle, just over Logan's hip, fingers interlocking so they can read each other's rhythm, start to match it, so they're fucking at the same pace, the same beat, pushing Kendall and Logan toward each other with every thrust and that's all it takes for Kendall, the overwhelming sensation of being lost in all their collective rhythms, and he's spilling hot and fierce all over Logan's hand - and finally, in that moment, everything finally shoots into full-blown clarity, no more blurred edges, but something bright-white, greater than just vision, something that feels more like some kind of nirvana.

"Oh, shit," James stutters, and Kendall knows he's feeling it, Kendall's tight heat clenching around him, and apparently that's enough for James too, because his own rhythm turns erratic and choppy before his hips still entirely, pressed flush against Kendall's ass, and finally relaxing.

When Kendall thinks to open his eyes again, it's clear Logan's close (and Kendall will never get over the fact that he can tell that), and judging by the harshness of Carlos's breath, he's right there with him.

When James eases out, dropping a soft, reverent kiss to Kendall's shoulder, everything seems to happen in a liquid progression as they slowly slip out of the four-bodied circle, disentangling: Kendall shifts his whole body downward on the bed, dipping his head to take Logan full into his mouth, sucking him down deep, tracing his tongue around the the tip of the head every time he pulls up, and Logan's lost, his fingers digging deep into Kendall's hair to ground himself as Carlos speeds up his thrusts, gasping sharp against Logan's skin.

Kendall looks up briefly to see what set Carlos off, and suddenly there's James behind him, moulded against Carlos's back, watching Carlos slip in and out of Logan with an entranced glaze in his eyes. Kendall's just in time to see James suck one finger into his mouth before it disappears between Carlos's legs, and then it's over. Carlos is moaning, stuttered and raw as he comes, biting down on Logan's shoulder, and suddenly Kendall's mouth is filled with Logan's release, hot and deliciously strong on his tongue.

Before he can really recover or even swallow, Kendall feels a gentle tug on his shoulder, and he pulls himself up, finding James cupping his cheek to pull him in for a kiss. They lean over Carlos and Logan, and Kendall opens up for him at James's insistence, hoping this is what James was going for or he might be a little freaked out. But James just pushes eagerly past his lips, his tongue stealing the last of Logan's release from Kendall's mouth, and below them, Logan makes this choked, awestruck gasp and Carlos fucking squeaks.

Kendall splutters a bit, giggling as he pulls away, and he can feel a few drops of come still trailing down the corners of his mouth.

"Too kinky for you, Mitchell?" he teases.

Carlos's eyes narrow and darken with shocking speed and intensity, and it makes Kendall shiver all over. Carlos lifts himself up, one hand gripping the back of Kendall's neck as he yanks him forward, tongue lapping up the last of Logan's release.

"That," he breaths between relentless kisses, a smile forming against Kendall's cheek, "is mine."

Kendall tries to make another mental note, but the way his brain's working now (or rather, isn't), it's stored rather primitively as, Litos, kink, good.

He falls back down against Logan, tangling their legs as Logan tucks his head under Kendall's chin, and James falls down to Carlos's other side, wrapping around him fully. His eyes are already shut when Logan whispers in a sleepy haze, "Did anyone close the door?"

Three chests rumble lazily with their bodies' exhausted attempts at laughter, and James assures him he did.

Kendall feels someone take his hand, but he's asleep before he can figure out who.

It's bizarre, waking up like this, with the late June sun low in the sky from descent, rather than ascent. The light's as low as it would be in the morning, but it's lazier now, contented, finally ready to settle.

James twists around a bit, extracting his arm from beneath Carlos's to look at the nightstand clock. Eight o'clock. At night. He's been asleep for nineteen hours. His lips stretch into a grin as he falls back to the pillow.

Shifting some more, the first thing he notices is Logan's absence, and while it doesn't worry him, really, it makes him too curious to consider going back to sleep.

He drags himself out of bed, finding someone's boxers and slipping them on. Carlos and Kendall have easily filled Logan's space, having squashed themselves together, Kendall's head pillowed on Carlos's chest, an arm slung across him, with Carlos's arm curled protectively around Kendall's shoulders as he snores softly. Kendall, dead to the world, doesn't seem to notice.

Making his way downstairs, James first thinks he sees a light in the kitchen, but it turns out it's just the sun, shooting its last bright rays into the large window by the little breakfast table. That's where he finds Logan, curled up a little gingerly on the cushioned seat in the nook of the window, a stack of photographs in his lap and surrrounding him on the seat.

"Do you always sit like there's a pine cone on your chair?"

Logan looks up, grinning lazily when he sees James. "No, only when I've been fucked into next week, I guess."

He gathers up the photos sprawled across the seat to make room for James, and James settles beside him. It's so easy to follow when Logan leans in for a kiss; long, sun-warmed fingers curling around James's chin, James's hand coming to rest at Logan's hip. Their knees bump and Logan's tongue curls into his and the sun spreads out across James's bare back and he's never felt more at peace in his life.

Their lips are still brushing, grinning into each other, when Logan finally says, "I have a daughter."

James chuckles sleepily. "I know."

Logan blinks.

"I... Beau accidentally let it slip. I mean, he figured you'd rather I hear it from you, but we were drunk. I was gonna mention it last night but, uh... we were kind of busy." He smiles shyly, and Logan beams. "Logan, I - fuck, I'm so happy. You're gonna be the most amazing father ever."

Logan reaches out across his photo-filled lap and touches James's hand. "So are you."

James blinks, and he feels something like pride swell in his chest, and something like tears swell in his eyes.

"I - " Logan backtracks quickly, realizing the stark candidness of his statement. "I mean, if you want - I mean - it's not like. I just."

James squeezes Logan's fingers gently, interlacing them with his own. "I do."

Logan looks suddenly terrified, like this was too easy and it's just going to blow up in his face, and James hates that that's still a natural pattern for him. "I - seriously?"

James grins, eyes sparkling. "More than anything."

Logan barks a small, scared laugh. "I just - James, I'm fucking scared. What if I suck? What if I..." He trails off, staring out the window.

"Logan. Look at me." James waits until he does. "You won't. You won't be your father. I promise."

"How do you know?"

"Because you care enough to be terrified that you will."

Logan's face relaxes a bit as he slips into a smile, fingers tracing absently over the edge of a photo.

"What are all these?" James asks, picking one up.

"Stuff over the years that Guitar Dude took."

James scans through a few, breaking into a chuckle when he uncovers one of the four of them in the back of the bus, three of them holding up Kendall, who's sprawled indecently across their arms in his tiara. Even Logan was tipsy enough to snake a hand down Kendall's chest to grope his nonexistent breast.

"I'm in love with the dumbest guys ever," James says fondly, and Logan beams, snuggling up to his side and pressing a kiss against his neck.

"Hey now, no shenanigans in the kitchen," Carlos's sleep-scratchy voice drawls through a smile.

"Fuck you, Garcia," Kendall counters, appearing behind him, butt-naked except for his glasses. "Kitchen sex is fabulous."

"You're fabulous. And by fabulous I mean gay."

"Says the dude who licked his best friend's come off my lips last night."

Carlos turns beet red, chooses to retaliate by ignoring him completely, and leans down to kiss Logan and James before digging around in the cupboards. Kendall waggles his eyebrows, mouths I win! to them both behind Carlos's back, and plops down on Logan's lap, kissing them both more thoroughly than any morning kiss should ever allow, and James loves it. Logan encircles his arms around Kendall tightly, dropping a sweet trail of kisses along his neck while Kendall purrs, leaning into it with closed eyes and an innocent, contented smile.

"Whatchya makin'?" James calls across the kitchen.

"Pancakes," Carlos says through a yawn. "Kendall and I have an arrangement."

"He makes pancakes, I eat them," Kendall explains.

"And does laundry for a week."

"Bitch ain't doin' my laundry," Logan announces, yawning. "Last time he washed my cardigans on delicate."

"They are delicate, you dick!"

"They're hand wash only!"

Kendall smirks. "Hand wash this," he counters, cupping his crotch; Logan blushes and huffs and pulls him closer, and that's the end of that.

"You lazy-asses gonna help, or what?" Carlos calls.

They pull themselves up reluctantly, and Logan makes himself useless by getting out paper plates because he's forgotten where his actual plates are. Kendall gets out the Pop-Tarts and a Coke, drinks half of it in one go, creeps up behind Carlos while he's stirring the batter and starts grinding against his ass.

Carlos yelps, batter goes flying while Logan snorts his amusement, and James settles for cackling from a safe distance.

Carlos lunges for Kendall with the spatula and Logan launches a stealth attack from behind with a paper plate. James tells him it's a cowardly move, sneaking up behind a man like that, and proceeds to throw bits of flour at Logan until Kendall makes fairy dust jokes and starts threatening the lot of them with his bottle of "E-Z-Squirt" syrup.

Outside the kitchen window, past Logan's inexplicably plum-colored drapes that only make sense now, set against the backdrop of the sky, the first splashes of orange and pink begin to sweep over blue, gearing up for the sun to rest.


	21. Chapter 21

**This is it. Hope you've all enjoyed it. Just wanted to reiterate how much I've enjoyed reading all your heartfelt reviews!**

"Why did no one remind me how much I hate photoshoots?"

He fumbles clumsily with his necktie, long fingers getting tangled in the knots until it's off, flying across the dressing room. Carlos catches it, sharing a grin with James as he steps into Logan's space and hooks it around his neck, tugging him closer. "Because we love to see you squirm."

Logan tries to draw out the huffy annoyance kick as long as he can manage, but Carlos's eyes, warm on his, shave off a good few seconds until Logan can't help but grin, letting Carlos pull him the rest of the way until their mouths meet.

"I wasn't the one squirming last night," he mumbles against Carlos's lips, feeling them stretch into a smile.

"Maybe," Kendall purrs into his ear, suddenly pressed along the length of Logan's back (already naked; the fuck?), "that's because I had you pinned down so hard you couldn't move."

Logan totally doesn't shudder into both sets of arms, no way. Not still, after a whole year.

James snorts, toeing off black leather loafers with ritualistic enthusiasm and slipping back into his flip-flops. "You totally squirmed for me," he remarks with a casual ease that sends a shivery spark down Logan's spine.

Logan turns his head slowly, meeting James's smirk with one to match. "Maybe that's 'cause you're a fucking tease, Diamond."

James raises an eyebrow. "Didn't hear you complaining."

"Whatever, it's almost over," Carlos decides, pulling his t-shirt back over his head and addressing the room at large. "Ready?"

Murmurs of assent answer him as the last stray items of their own clothing find their way back to their bodies. Logan takes his time, carefully arranging his suit on the hanger. "You guys go ahead, I'll be out in a sec."

He keeps his back to the door as he hears it close, and suddenly the room's quiet, the others' voices echoing softly down the hall. Something's still blocking that feeling of complete isolation, though, and he's not quite sure what it is until Kendall's voice sounds softly behind him.

"You okay?"

Logan turns around, midway through buttoning up his shirt. "Hey. Yeah."

Kendall's distractions always tend to lead him back to Logan; maybe Logan's always been the distraction to begin with. He tries to focus on the buttons as he feels Kendall approach, knowing what's coming, and not sure if these are concerns he feels like putting into words just yet.

Kendall reaches up a hand to close over Logan's occupied fingers, waiting until he has Logan's gaze. "You sure?"

He shrugs. "I miss our girl."

Kendall's face instantly softens into that low, simmering glow reserved for those moments he's thinking about Ginger, and he sighs. "Me too. But god, just think, after tour we get her for three whole months."

"Yeah... I know."

And they've been without her before; it's not just that. Logan knows, and he knows Kendall knows, but.

Kendall rubs his thumb lightly over Logan's hip. "Is it just about her?"

Logan shrugs. "I just. We haven't done this in a long time."

"You afraid you forgot how to bullshit?"

It pulls a little smile from Logan's lips, at least. "I guess I'm scared they're gonna ask things I don't want to answer... or, like, that I'll answer wrong, and fuck everything up."

Kendall smiles back. "It's okay. We'll save you from your socially awkward self."

"You always do," Logan replies dryly, but his smirk is still thriving as he bats Kendall's hand away to finish his buttons, finally stopping and heaving a sigh when he realizes he'd begun one button off and has to start over. "Oh, just, fuck me. God damn it."

"Later," Kendall whispers.

Their eyes lock as Kendall's hands come up to Logan's shirt, plucking open the buttons himself with that slow, deliberate way that lets Logan feel every pop as each one pushes through the little slit in the material. Logan can already feel his own breath start to lose depth, running ragged, and god, this is so not the time for this, but Kendall's working his fuck-me stare that Logan tends to go jelly-kneed for, fucking bastard, so it's not much of a surprise when their mouths finally crash.

Kendall's shoving Logan's shirt over his shoulders even before their tongues meet, and Logan absently hears the material flutter to the floor. Kendall pushes his hips into Logan's until he's pinned up against the make-up table, the impact sending a jolt straight to his dick because maybejustmaybe he loves it when Kendall's rough with him, and flashbacks of where that can lead flood his mind, making it impossible to hold himself up but he really doesn't have to anymore. Kendall's got one arm firmly around his back, fingers curling into a grip at his shoulder, holding him up, the other hand cupping Logan's ass until Logan's head drops back, giving Kendall access to his neck, an access that Kendall never fails to take advantage of until Logan's sporting messy little trails of purplish red splotches that have necessitated more turtlenecks over the past year than Logan would ever care to own, but it's worth it a thousand times over.

"Hey, are you guys - "

The whoosh of the door swinging open and James's voice shatter their spell and they release one another on impulse before they register James, who's now smirking and shaking his head.

"They're waiting, you pervs."

"I've been waiting all morning, I'm fucking horny!" Kendall whines.

"And I'm not? They practically had Carlos on my lap the entire photoshoot," James counters. "Get your asses out here."

He gives them a gentle wink and shuts the door, leaving them to contend with their tousled hair and Logan's blatant lack of shirt.

Kendall smiles, crooked and sheepish, rubbing at the back of his neck. "You ready?"

Logan tugs him forward by his belt loops, placing one last kiss on Kendall's already swollen lips. "Bring it."

"All right, now you're probably gonna get asked this in every interview for the next six months, but since this is your first major one since your return, I'm totally allowed."

The boys smile at each other, easily sprawled across the squishy couch. Maybe Rolling Stone actually got it right; she's nice, genuine; not fake or fangirly, and the place doesn't give Logan that sense of sterile claustrophobia like most interview spaces, too reminiscent of hospital rooms. It's open and airy with big windows overlooking the city, sun streaming in, sprawling over plants in the corners. Maybe Gustavo put in a call.

"Fair enough," James tells her. "Shoot."

"Okay. So what is the 'four-sided circle'? It's kind of an incongruous image."

A few chuckles circle across the couch; it was well enough expected, but Logan takes a deep breath nonetheless because he knows this one's for him.

"Um," he starts, leaning forward a little, one hand coming up automatically to rub over his face, scratch absently at the back of his head. They're squashed together enough that he can feel James's hand rubbing soft circles into the small of his back and he knows the girl can't see it, and it settles his nerves just enough without being distracting. "I think, y'know, it could really refer to a number of things, the circle representing a sort of cyclic security, or unity, and the four sides are the four levels of security that keep it alive and strong. It has a lot of different contexts. I think the primary one would be that... y'know, it's about how we've evolved as a band, y'know, as a unit, like how we all got a lot closer on the island, how none of us could really survive without the other three, how we're all kind of integral to each other, both as a band and... and... y'know..." He risks a glance over at Kendall, unable not to match Kendall's tiny, secret smile. "...and personally."

_Logan could write about this forever. _

_Only, he usually can't, because when he gets really wrapped up in it, feeling the red heat creep over his cheeks as the words spill from his mind onto the page, with three other people in the house it's usually only an hour or two before someone's crawling up behind him, impatient, kissing his neck and whispering for him to come to bed. His stomach flip-flops and his knees get wobbly and it's the first time in his life, much to the irritated surprise of past girlfriends, that the lure of sex has been able to tear him away from his writing. _

_He's starting to realize it's maybe because writing, among the many purposes it serves him, was always something he needed to feel whole; was always his outlet, his completion. _

_He's found a better one. _

_Now, instead of writing to feel whole, he writes about being whole. _

_And sometimes it's old-school, deep, metaphorical and far-fetched and convoluted and even angsty in ways only Gustavo would understand. _

_Sometimes it's not. _

_It's not that the edge is gone, so much as redirected. The edge is right where Logan wants it. The journalists can sit across from him with their digital recorders and notepads and raised eyebrows and ask him what the line "hold me down and fill me up" means, and Logan can launch into snarky, sarcastic diatribes about societal pressure and the detrimental influence of media propaganda, while Kendall has to sit beside him biting a permanent indentation into his tongue to keep from laughing because he knows the line's about his dick. _

_The fans have figured it out. _

_But their theories and confidence are humble and self-doubting, because they were wrong for so long. _

_James looks up from his laptop, grinning as he reads aloud the headline. _

_"Inspiration in Isolation: BTR's New Lyrics Explore Epiphanies about Modern Society from a Year Outside It." _

_Too eager to laugh, Kendall snorts a spew of Red Bull through his nose and Carlos says, "Hey baby, want to go have an epiphany?" _

_Logan burrows into James's shoulder, silent laughter shaking his frame. _

_Speaking of epiphanies. _

_It's amazing, the things you notice when you finally let yourself. _

_What feels strange is how much everything makes sense as four, like it's been happening all along and they were asleep for it; but it's the pairs that feel newest, like secrets that have finally burst, and it's exhilarating, the balance that evolves: what they can't share with one they can share with another, each one fulfilling a different part of them until there's no part of themselves left that feels incomplete. _

_Kendall and James are children, children who are in their twenties and can fuck hard enough to break the headboard (twice, thank you, "Do they fucking make titanium frames? Because you're buying the next one."). But the way Logan writes about them is so much like fairytales and nursery rhymes, scattered with innocence and wide, youthful smiles, that people have started to ask if they're resurrecting scrapped songs. _

_It's a riot because James has expertly practiced stamina and Kendall thinks stamina's overrated. He can force it, if he needs to, but he'd rather the quick fix, rough and dirty, and while James loves to tease, Kendall simultaneously craves it and can't survive it. But James is not cruel, and he makes it worth it in the end, adding little rewards like a point system depending on how well Kendall behaves, and there's laughter, always laughter coming from whatever sun-drenched room they happen to find themselves in, because they're at their best during the day. Lazy, late-afternoon sun bouncing off pale flesh and taut muscles, reflected in sparkling eyes. They're the most comfortable in their skin of the four of them, and they want to see. The better they can see, the easier it is to tickle, to wrestle one another for power until they're laughing too hard to maintain the struggle. _

_It'll stop, then, when Kendall ghosts his breath over the back of James's neck, or when James will slide his finger over a nipple until Kendall whimpers, and laughter dissolves to stuttered breaths and slack jaws. Kendall's loud as fuck and James is silent, content to listen, never once tells him to calm down, slow down, quiet down, only encouraging Kendall to be as Kendall as possible. And the effect is like therapy. Kendall's family tells him they've never seen him so composed, so in control of himself, clearly his experiences overseas have matured him. _

_He bites his lip and looks across his family's dinner table at James, who's smiling at his napkin, and thinks, I love you too. _

_James never, ever fucks him without telling him he loves him. _

_Sometimes Kendall can say it back and sometimes he can only smile, brilliant and big and squinty-eyed to blink out the sun. _

_James almost prefers the smile. _

_As for him and Carlos, well... their secret maybe hasn't entirely burst. _

_Logan tells them constantly that they look like six-year-old girls playing telephone (in retaliation, Carlos throws things at him, such as Kendall), the way they're always huddled together, grinning nonstop, playing with their entwined fingers, moony-eyed and whispering nonsense into each other's ears, or what might look like nonsense to anyone else. It's clearly not, if the frequent rise of color in Carlos's cheeks is any indication, and after awhile they'll wordlessly rise from the sofa (utterly tuned out to Logan and Kendall's - okay, Logan's - protests that they're in the middle of movie night, and hello, subtitles aren't just going to read themselves), hand in hand and disappear into the nearest room with a soft horizontal surface. _

_They're quiet but not silent, just enough to tease the ears of the other two, and Logan would think it's intentional if he didn't know how utterly wrapped up they can get in each other, to the point that he's fairly sure if the fire alarm went off, it's entirely likely James and Carlos would be burnt to a crisp in their ridiculous bed of bliss. _

_Who knew James was such a fucking romantic. _

_Logan finds out for himself, soon enough. _

_They can kiss for hours, seriously, and never move an inch below the waist. _

_It's kind of amazing, because most of the girls Logan had been with were fine with a few minutes of foreplay and then business as usual, and he and Carlos had always been too young not to let kissing lead elsewhere, but James... James kisses him like they have all the time in the world; like he doesn't want anything back. Like it can be something other than sexual. He kisses like it's an act of worship, of showing his respect, and Logan can recognize it as such, after all the closeness they'd built from writing together. _

_The magic is that it makes it all the more intense when it does lead elsewhere because they're not expecting it - and neither are Kendall or Carlos, gawking open-mouthed as it usually happens in front of them, a subtle slide into spontaneity - and suddenly they'll find themselves naked, tangled together on the sofa with one of them inside the other, already teetering on the edge with no idea how they got there. _

_Kendall and Carlos, as KendallandCarlos, are far above this romantic bullshit. _

_It becomes pretty clear where they're headed right from the start, and neither Logan nor James is surprised the first time they come home and find Kendall handcuffed to the bed, Carlos straddling him, one of Logan's scarves in hand as he proceeds to secure it across Kendall's eyes. There's about a bucket of lube surrounding them, a pair of women's underwear, a few intimidating items Logan remembers seeing on display at Starship, and a devious smile stretched across Kendall's face. _

_Carlos pleads innocence. _

_(Kendall tells him it would be a good character to play against Kendall's coldhearted slavemaster. Carlos whimpers, and that's that.) _

_It's those moments alone with him that Carlos feels most comfortable, most compelled to experiment, to rightfully earn their reputation as kinkiest motherfuckers in the house (a title no one dares try to usurp), because he knows there isn't anything Kendall wouldn't do, isn't anything he'd say no to or wouldn't be willing to try, to let Carlos try, and it makes Carlos feel wild and out of control - things he'd never let himself feel since... ever. Growing up with Logan and his brothers, he'd slipped naturally into the role of responsibility, keeping himself rational and strong for their sakes, and this is the first time he's ever allowed himself to let go of that, to put himself in someone else's hands, to indulge in recklessness, take what he wants when he wants and let them strip him of his control in return. _

_Kendall voices his approval of this plan through unabashed moans and screams that, once, cause the neighbors to call 911. _

_To Carlos's ears, it's like music. _

_And it's so them, too, that the first time Kendall says "I love you" to him like that, it's when he's in the doorway to the bathroom, watching Logan crawl on top of James in the tub, oblivious to Kendall's presence and lost in each other's mouths as their bodies move against one another through the sea of bubbles. _

_Carlos comes up behind him without warning, touches a single hand lightly to Kendall's hip, and whispers, "Let the girls have their bubble bath. I want to see if I can fit my whole hand inside you, how's that sound?" _

_Kendall gasps, falls back against the wall just outside the bathroom, and the three words slip out, out of place but no less sincere. _

_Carlos laughs breathlessly, returns the words with a twinkle in his eye that spells more than mischief, and gently pulls Kendall to the bedroom. _

_And the physical intensity is exactly the contrast Carlos needs from the emotional intensity he has with Logan. He and Logan are perhaps the most striking to simply watch, to the point that despite implicit permission to participate, or even just touch one another, sometimes watching is all Kendall and James can do - and James takes advantage of it, sneaking his camera in when inspiration strikes. _

_Logan and Carlos will spend all their time pressed together at every inch, each of Logan's sharp angles fitting seamlessly against Carlos's curves. They always seem to start out naked somehow, clothes never entering the picture, their bodies simply moving together like water, pressing close like they're trying to disappear into each other, become part of each other. Just endless touches and no words - not that they've ever needed words, but what's mesmerizing is how in these moments, even their eyes are no longer needed. Their eyes rest, always shut, and it's their bodies that speak for them now. _

_The others never quite seem to know what they're saying, but they climax together every time and more often than not, they're calling for James and Kendall before it's over, like they need them to finish. _

_"We do," Logan tells Kendall when he voices this theory, his hand stretching out to trace across Kendall's face, a lazy, blissful smile stealing over him. Kendall returns it tenfold. _

_Logan and Kendall stand out in stark relief, only in that there's no rhyme or reason to them. _

_They don't have patterns, they don't have unspoken rituals or specifics of interaction beyond the way they look at each other (naked, open and gorgeous, all walls destroyed): their only predictability is their unpredictability - like they're being constantly struck with the awareness that they're together, that they can indulge every impulse, every desire, everything they've repressed for so long they'd started to forget it was there, swimming under the surface, now a constant reminder that they have six years to make up. _

_But reckless impulsiveness is only one sparkling side of their sexual prism, and more often than not they'd prefer to be in bed, in the dark, gentle and slow, moving together like they're each other's gravity, like they'd just fall off the face of the earth without this, eyes always locked and whispers low, hushed and secret, words that only make sense to each other. _

_Still, impulse has its merits. _

_It feels random to the other two, causing more than one spit take or toppled beer bottle, to find Logan and Kendall sitting calmly on the sofa together, barely touching, and all of a sudden their eyes will meet, then their mouths, and then Logan's three hundred dollar Italian designer shirt is being ripped off and he's not complaining. It's like they forget they can do this now, and the simple rush of remembering is almost as intense as their response to it. _

_...Almost. _

_If you ask James and Carlos (Logan and Kendall were a little too involved to have an opinion - forest, trees, whatnot), there's very little that could top Lord of the Rings night, the scent of popcorn heavy in the air as Kendall pops his head into the living room and asks, "Anyone want another beer?" _

_James and Carlos each hold up a bottle to indicate satisfactory status, but Logan sits straight up in his seat, eyes fixed to Kendall with a very specific hunger. _

_Kendall recognizes it instantly, eyes going wide as Logan crosses the room. He gulps like he can't quite believe, now?!, but he wisely sets his own bottle down on the counter a split second before Logan reaches him, his hands hooking under Kendall's t-shirt and yanking it forcefully over his head before crashing their mouths. _

_Kendall stumbles straight back into the wall, picture frames rattling near his head as Logan presses forward into the kiss, all teeth and tongue, already yanking down the zipper on Kendall's fly, shoving the jeans down his legs and off over his ankles, Kendall nearly toppling over in the process. Kendall catches on quick enough, peeling Logan's shirt over his head when he straightens back up and making quick work of his pants. He whispers something into Logan's ear, low and frantic, and Logan growls impatiently as he bends down to the floor, fishing around in the pockets of Kendall's jeans until he produces the tiny bottle, fast unscrewing the cap and coating it messily over his fingers, more than a few drops spilling onto his Persian rug and oh my god, he so doesn't care. _

_"Don't - don't have to," Kendall tells him, voice wrecked from arousal as he closes his hand over Logan's and guides it to Logan's erection, pumping their hands together to slick him up, and only then does Logan falter, bracing himself against a wall as he pants harsh against Kendall's shoulder. "Come on, need you." _

_Logan gasps, lining up and pushing in fast, hard, just over the too-much side of rough the way Kendall loves, kissing him hard before Kendall can make any noise - not that he has to worry, because Kendall's always quiet with him, trembling through his own silences like he's just trying to convince himself this is real. _

_It's awkward in that gorgeous, desperate way until Logan gets his hands around Kendall's ass and tugs, and up Kendall goes, legs around Logan's waist as Logan fucks him into the living room wall, with the overpowering smell of half-burnt popcorn and Howard Shore's theme vague in their ears, the dull thud of their rhythm a jarring contrast to the melody. Kendall's totally going to have wall burn tomorrow, if that's even a thing, but there isn't much to complain about when he feels Logan shoot off inside him, liquid heat filling his insides until he can barely breathe, spilling helplessly between their bodies without a single hand on his dick. _

_James blinks at the pair of them, his hand inching blindly across the couch as he whispers, "Litos?" _

_Carlos shudders as James reaches the button on his fly. "Yeah?" _

_James sighs, working his fingers past the denim. "I love life." _

"So, Kendall. Let's face it. The rumors about you and Logan are stronger than ever. The picture of you two holding hands outside Starbucks has practically gone viral online. Care to elaborate?"

Kendall smiles down at his knees, blushing modestly as he feels Logan squeeze his hand, the gesture hidden to the interviewer in the tangle of bodies on the couch.

He meets her eyes and grins. "I just don't think people have the whole story, that's all."

_Two days after their reunion, Carlos announces that James is taking him on a date and not to wait up. This is clearly code that Kendall and Logan had better consummate themselves before the night is up, or else. Kendall knows this because James whispered in his ear before they'd left, "You'd better consummate yourselves before the night is up, or else." _

_Kendall shoves him out in a raging blush and closes the door forcefully behind his and Carlos's giggles ("'Consummate', James, seriously?!"), turning back to Logan and the big empty house and feeling like the parent on prom night. Sort of. Or more like, the kids who just kicked out their parents on prom night instead. Because that happens. _

_Logan quirks a corner of his mouth, his lips still pink and puffy from the shower's wet heat, as he takes a few steps forward, nearing Kendall. "Should I fear for my virtue?" _

_Kendall raises an eyebrow, inwardly chastising the growing tightness in his pants. He's never much been able to resist Logan under any circumstances, but Logan being coy might actually kill him. And that would put a serious damper on the whole... consummation thing (for fuck's sake, James). _

_He crosses the last few feet of the hardwood foyer floor, closing in on Logan's space until their hips are brushing, fingers skating up arms and tickling necks, collarbones - light little touches designed to tease, to coax out shivers and goosebumps and sharp, shallow breaths. _

_Kendall licks his lips without thinking, whispers, "I think maybe you should," and Logan ducks his head to meet his mouth. _

_Their clothes leave a messy, unmistakable path on the steps as they stumble up to the bedroom ("I'm not carrying you or your virture, get your ass upstairs"), and it's a little too easy to fall to the bed, to let their bodies effortlessly find all the spots they fit into together, that Kendall almost forgets they haven't done this, officially. _

_"You're shaking," Logan whispers, hands running comfortingly up and down the Kendall's arms as Kendall holds himself above Logan, just hovering enough that he doesn't squash him, their hips circling gently against one another. _

_Kendall smiles into his lips. "Hush, Mitchell." _

_"You're shaking," Logan protests, unable to hide the slight whine in his voice as he sits up, cradling Kendall's face in his hands. "What's wrong?" _

_Kendall's still smiling, but it's more nerves than anything else, and his eyes aren't on Logan's when he shrugs dismissively. "Long time, waiting," he whispers simply, his voice shaking a bit. _

_"I know." _

_"I think I... god, it's so stupid, somewhere in my head I still feel like you're gonna disappear and I'm gonna wake up." _

_"Baby, I'm not." _

_"I know, I know. It's not... rational. I just." _

_"Okay. Okay," Logan soothes, lightly stroking Kendall's face, tracing across his cheekbone, over warm lips. "Then don't let me go. Don't let me disappear." _

_Kendall blinks. "I..." _

_In answer, Logan slowly lies back down, spreading himself out in pale relief against the dark navy sheets, lifting his arms over his head and crossing them at the wrist, eyes blown as they stare into Kendall's, waiting. _

_He whispers, "Don't let go," and the invitation is palpable. _

_Kendall has just enough presence of mind left to dig around the bedside table for what he needs before lowering himself down over the length of Logan's body, kissing him until they're both breathless and hard against each other, long past ready, but he doesn't push in until Logan whispers his name, a promise and permission and plea all at once. _

_Logan says, "Slow?" and Kendall knows it's not a request for gentle, for the sake of easing any discomfort, but instead to let Kendall breathe, to calm him, so that it doesn't pass them by in a rushed, frantic blur that fuels any more of his fears. And it works, somehow: Kendall fucks him slow, every tiny spark of sensation heightened, drawn out, one hand bracing his weight and the other closed firmly around Logan's wrists, holding him down, holding him there, and as promised, Logan doesn't disappear, just tips right over the edge with him and emerges intact on the other side, their eyes still locked - and if they did disappear for a moment, they did it together. _

_Logan pulls him down, sweat-damp foreheads touching, slick against each other as their chests still heave through the aftershocks. He whispers, "I love you." _

_Kendall tries to speak, but all that comes out is a smile. _

_He knows now, this is not that dream. _

_This is so, so much better. _

"So, Logan. It must've been pretty shellshocking to come home and suddenly discover you have a child. How has fatherhood changed your life?"

Logan considers it for a moment, but even as the words begin to form, the beaming, explosive grin taking over his face is answer enough.

_"This one, wait, this one!" _

_"Kendall, we have like, six of that outfit already," he points out, gesturing to the purple Babies-R-Us cart, nearly overflowing after a mere eighteen minutes in the store. _

_"Not in pink." Kendall works his lips into a full pout, shoving the little footie pajama at Logan's chest, and James stands his ground beside Kendall, looking hopeful. _

_"She doesn't need pink," Logan huffs haughtily, his eyes sparkling as Ginger reaches out to curl her tiny fist around his index finger. "I don't want our daughter to be subjected to the confines of gender stereotyping." _

_"But it has kittens on it," James coos. _

_"Let her decide," Carlos declares, bouncing Ginger on his hip. "Gentlemen, state your cases." _

_Logan holds up his tasteful sage green ensemble, while Kendall and James display their choice between them, wiggling the material enticingly. _

_"Bah," Ginger says, reaching for the pink. _

_"You wound me, muffin," Logan sighs, leaning over to plant a kiss on her nose. _

_"Look on the bright side," Carlos offers, his eyes twinkling deviously as they meet Logan's. "Your closet's still girlier than hers'll ever be." _

_Logan looks up slowly from where he's curled on the sofa with his copy of What To Expect The First Year, Carlos's head in his lap and Ginger curled up against Carlos's tummy, both of them fast asleep. _

_His eyes widen. "What did you do?" _

_James carefully sets down his four Build-a-Bear boxes with a sheepish grin, but Kendall holds up his own five and a bodybag-sized sack of bear clothing and accessories, parental pride radiating from his eyes. "We couldn't decide!" _

_"So you bought her the entire store?" _

_"Yes!" _

_But there's little he can protest to when James and Kendall both start popping open their boxes, pulling out bears, cats, dogs, dinosaurs, and bunnies. The dogs look up with varying degrees of interest from their nap spots on the floor as Kendall and James start squashing the stuffed animals' fat little arms into clothes and arranging them on the sofa, tucked against Logan, Carlos, and Ginger, before settling down themselves, surrounding the three of them like a cocoon. _

_"Admit it," James whispers into Logan's ear as Logan tugs him closer, letting James burrow into his side. "You love it." _

_"I love you," Logan whispers, and that's good enough. _

_Logan gets the feeling he's neither wanted nor needed in Carlos and James's kitchen, possibly because they've put up printer-paper signs with "Carlos and James's kitchen - keep out" written in Sharpie and taped the signs to the fridge and the doorway leading in from the hall. But it's his birthday dinner (two weeks early because the tour's starting, Jesus, the tour, they're touring again, and Logan still can't stop smiling), and whatever they're cooking smells orgasmic, so he's more than willing to leave them to it. _

_It's not until he's halfway up the stairs, when the soft notes begin trailing to his ears, that he's actually grateful to have been banned from his own kitchen. _

_He rounds the corner at the top of the stairs, steps slowly toward the nursery, carefully avoiding the square of floor at the top of the steps that creaks at the slightest provocation, and finds himself halting in the doorway, too lost in melting into the fucking floor to move forward. _

_The low, rainbow splash of light from Ginger's multi-colored balloon lamp by her crib is shadowing them both in a soft glow - or that could just be Kendall's eyes, shining as he stares down at the tiny figure he's rocking gently in his arms, smiling through the words as they leave his lips. _

_"You'll never know, dear," he sings gently, "how much I love you... please don't take my sunshine away." _

_Ginger's well enough asleep by the time he finishes the first verse, but before he can begin the second, his eyes trail absently upward, suddenly jerking toward the doorway as he catches sight of Logan. His smile widens, and he leans down to place a soft kiss against the her little pink forehead before setting her carefully down in the crib, tugging her blanket up and securing it around her shoulders. _

_Logan's by his side when Kendall finishes, straightening up, and when Kendall opens his mouth to say something as he inevitably will, Logan closes the space between them and catches his lips, their arms looping loosely around each other's waists. _

_When they separate, Kendall's still smiling. "Shameless. Carrying on like that in front of our daughter." _

_Logan smiles back. "She'll always know how much I love you." _

_"Yeah? How much would that be?" _

_Logan leans in, pulling Kendall in close as if they were to start dancing, their position mirroring one they'd settled into once before, what feels like a thousand years ago, in front of a waterfall somewhere across the universe. Their cheeks brush, eyelids fluttering against the skin, and Logan lets his lips hover at Kendall's ear when he whispers, "You'll never know, dear." _

"James, I hear you're living in Los Angeles. What made you decide to make the move back to California?"

James stares around at each of his boys in turn, soaking up their proud, brilliant smiles, before he grins, turning to lock sparkling eyes with the interviewer's. "I wanted to be closer to my family."

_"Jesus, fuck, James." _

_"Not yet," Carlos's low, controlled voice breaks through the gasps. "Don't give it to him yet."_

_Kendall's watching, entranced, mouth hanging open, his hand working steadily on Carlos's length, because if he didn't have something to occupy himself, everyone knows he'd be lunging forward and doing it himself, giving Logan what he wants. _

_James pulls off Logan's dick with a wet pop, setting dark eyes on Carlos to wait for his cue, one slick index finger circling teasingly at Logan's entrance. Logan's nothing short of writhing beneath him, his own eyes glaring into Carlos's as Carlos smiles sweetly, reaching out to trace a hand gently over the sharp, tense line of Logan's jaw - and only Carlos would be able to get away with this, having earned a decade and a half's worth of best friend privileges, of allowance to taunt to the point of merciless. _

_"Wipe that smirk off your face," Logan growls, desperate, but there's no real venom beneath the tone, "or else I'm gonna fuck all of you till you can't walk, and then I'm gonna do it again." _

_Kendall whimpers, his cock offering an approving twitch beneath Carlos's fingers. It's not an empty threat, either; Logan's done it. _

_There's a taut moment of suspension, all movements halted, before Logan squirms one last time and begs, "Los." _

_Carlos flashes his eyes to James's, a corner of his lips curling up. "Now." _

"So you've been back just over a year now, working on the album, which comes out on the eighteenth, and the tour starts a week after that. What do you guys plan on doing with your last few weeks of freedom?"

Carlos smiles at the other three, shrugging casually. "Oh, nothing too exciting... hang out... spend a little time on the beach... y'know."

Memories are not something much pondered unless we're missing them or losing them.

...Or, maybe too, if we're making them.

Kendall lifts his head from James's lap as the crackling voice breaks through the airplane intercom.

"Well, ladies and... ladies, it's a beautiful sunny day out here in the middle of nowhere. Coming up on your right we've got... nothing! And over here on your left, you'll notice a vast expanse of classic nothing, dating back to the sixteenth century."

Logan and Carlos share a grin, and Kendall smiles up at James. "When Gustavo said he knew the pilot... did that secretly mean he is the pilot?"

James chuckles, reaching out to brush a fringe of hair from Kendall's face, and Logan smiles from where he's nestled back against Carlos's chest across the seats opposite Kendall and James, Logan's shirt still wrinkled and hair sticking up in eight directions from his and Kendall's (successful, thank you) attempt at a Mile High Club membership half an hour ago.

"We're descending to about ten thousand feet, guys," the pilot announces, fuzzy voice filling the sun-drenched cabin. "In a few minutes you'll be able to see it."

Kendall's vaguely aware of one knee bouncing up and down compulsively, but James doesn't seem to mind. He just hands Kendall his cell phone with a grin and shows him the text displayed across the lighted screen.

1 message from gustavo r.

u sure u want 2 do this its not to late i can tell him to bring u home pls dont die b4 the new tour, love you dogs. ps- kid misses ginger he keeps going "WHERE GEE?" its so cute. dont die ok

Kendall barks a laugh and clicks out of the message, idly pulling up James's collection of cell pics and scrolling through. His wallpaper's still Kendall's favourite: the four of them curled up on the bed, asleep, with Ginger in the middle and both Cat Dylan and Dog Dylan (now answering to Dylan-C and Dylan-D, despite Logan's protests that it made them sound like chemical compounds) nestled at her feet, a shot snapped by Carlos's mom one painstaking afternoon after she'd taught the boys how to baby-proof Logan's ridiculous house.

"Hey. Guys."

Kendall closes the phone at the sound of Carlos's voice, looks up just in time to see the jerk of his head toward one of the oval airplane windows. Kendall pulls himself up off James and peers out, his eyes squinting at a speck of land in the distance. He keeps his gaze peeled on the sight as the plane nears it, one hand eagerly plastered against the window like a kid, smearing fingerprints across the clear surface. It's a few moments before it's anything recognizable, but eventually a jagged stretch of beach becomes visible, a tall line of cliffs to the left, an endless expanse of rising forest behind it, and, as they draw closer, a familiar clump of palm trees still draped with vines, now broken and hanging limp and unused, but unmistakable.

"Oh my god," Logan whispers.

It feels like hours (because Kendall is five) before landing, before the door of the amphibious plane swings open upon a stretch of water some few dozen meters from shore and time descends into a bustle of logistics as they sling overstuffed waterproof bags over their shoulders, trying to ensure nothing's forgotten.

Jeremy the pilot emerges, grinning and glaringly colorful in his Hawaiian tourist shirt and wide-legged khakis.

"See you Friday at noon?"

"We'll be here," Carlos assures him.

"You got your radios and tools and - "

"Everything's here," James assures him, tapping his bag, and grins playfully. "Did Gustavo, like, give you a list?"

"He made me take an oath," Jeremy sighs, dramatics worthy of Gustavo himself. "You die, I die."

"How very Titanic," Logan grins wryly. "Don't worry, we're good."

"Sure you don't want me to come along?"

Kendall shares a pointed look with Carlos, images flashing behind his eyes of all the different things they could try out on the island (he has vague ambitions of tree house sex, if they could build a tree house in a week), and judging by the way Carlos's eyes darken to a deep, swirling blue, his own thoughts aren't far off.

Kendall bites back a grin and turns to Jeremy. "I don't think you want to be around for this."

He plunges into the water with a rich, vibrant splash, his bag toppling after him, and what hits him the hardest is how hard it doesn't hit him.

They're maybe twenty feet off from where the wreckage once existed (the water's so clear now it's almost like it never happened), and Kendall had well prepared himself for the memories that would flood back, likely send him to tears for their first while back, but as the water surrounds him, sun bright on his skin as he races the others to shore, nearly melting in his own skin at the soft, dry warmth of the sand beneath his bare feet, so long gone and so missed, he's struck only with a sense of peace when it dawns on him that maybe all his preparation was therapy enough.

And maybe it's too soon; maybe it hasn't quite sunk in, maybe it'll hit him later, over dinner (which they're going to make, with their own fucking hands, over their own fucking fire), or afterwards, tangled in the arms of the other three as the waves curl up to the shore and the insects sing them to sleep. And when it does, if it does, whenever it does, he'll be ready then, too.

But now is now, and he's slowly coming to realize the future isn't what's important. It isn't the outcome that holds all the meaning, nor the end result that houses the answers: all that matters is the present, the distance they have traveled to reach it, and a future that they can't wait to see.


End file.
